Racing, racing, perfectly still
Comes the lifeline, tightly gripped
Stretched from creation to the never-end of all I am
One and every moment filled
Like all of space –time slipped
Into a single here and now through the burst dam
Of a seeing mind.
What is a moment found?
What is a moment seized?
What is the value of a thing plentifully singular?
What is the worth of the right thing at the right time?
And who’s to tell a drifter in the racing stillness what the whole picture looks like?
What to do with a puzzle piece
When you are a puzzle piece
And you don’t know where box is,
Where the box is with the picture.
I look at everything now at everything here
At all the whens and wheres in a single breath
And how do I take my next breath, then,
When its only a piece of a breath
Yet to be breathed
How do I make a to-do list
In the face of the great woven continuum
How do I carve out time
Carve my initials onto time
Carve my actions into the vast and sweeping everything
How do I make a bucket list
When buckets are only one arrangements of a set molecules racing through the stillness of time
and space, that were once other things and will be other things yet, and are all the things they will ever
be a part of at once,
And when in some sense my death is as done and over with as my birth?
For more, see my poetry page.