EVENT UALLY

A week from this
Thursday something will
happen that no one could
have ever foreseen.
This is the beauty
and the horror, at once,
of our limited vision,
afraid to see the present
although it is all
that is clearly within
our visual field.
Instead we look back
into the shadows
where memory substitutes
for clarity and truth,
or forward
into the abyss.

TIMING IS . . .

 

The sweep of the second-hand,
the minute hand is constant, each
moment as long as the last, none
longer, none shorter and yet I know
that Einstein was right in noting that
things unpleasant take forever, while
all that is joyful passes quickly
even when the elapsed time is the same.
What Albert didn’t say is that
the unpleasant leads us to look
for the future, keeping us
locked longer in the present moment.
That which is pleasant keeps us present
and the future seems to come
too quickly, the pleasure slipping away.
It is, in the end, merely perception
and I prefer to remain in the present
for it is all that I have, and
all that I choose to make it.

PERCEPTION

The sweep of the second hand,
the minute hand is constant, each
moment as long as the last, none
longer, none shorter and yet I know
that Einstein was right in noting that
things unpleasant take forever, while
all that is joyful passes quickly,
even when the elapsed time is the same.
What Albert didn’t say is that
the unpleasant leads us to look
for the future, keeping us
locked out of the present moment.
That which is pleasant keeps us present
and the future seems to come
too quickly, the pleasure slipping away.
It is, in the end, merely perception
and I prefer to remain in the present
for it is all that I have, and
all that I choose to make it.

TELLER

She claims to see the future
in a glass orb,
in the palm of a hand,
in the cards spread
out on a small table.

He knows all history
is written in books
is retold in stories
is buried in successive
layers of soil beneath the city.

Neither walks along the shore
see this wave
lapping the sand
and this, and this.
Neither stoops to pick
up the shell,
to watch the crab
scutter, to feel
the pull
of the ocean.

The wave has no future,
has no history,
and caresses the whelk,
crab and foot, uncaring.