There is no now, each
now is gone before it can be named.
A chronic waterfall, the seconds
wash over the rock ledge and vanish
with a tumble and turn; at this joint
poised on the brink, we can see but can't
move the water flowing to, water
cacading away; no more can we
halt it, stop it on the brink, study
it, name it, and then let if flood past.
One moment the unspoken
future, trips over our rocky juncture
and then is past, but not owned
not ever our present, but always
spring from seeds
in the past.
set seeds that
form the future.
In the moment
the past and future
are fused to become
the present. We can't
see the present come
into being. But in
some shared space
we enter together--
the only time
any of us have.