The present a moment of clarity
is; is what the past boils down to; and we
are in that bleak state of constant reminder
that indwells the whole idea of our future
is what the present will be.
The present is always with us, here
is where the process is reduced to meaning
that sustains it, or, as in a news reading,
is concluded, here, the emptiness
of catharsis, here, the burgeoning.
Here is spring, summer, autumn and winter,
the turning wheel of time tangential to
the present; here the cities spread out large
floating the present to make it appear
something always with us.
The present can seem forever, but that
is the trick of identity, the face
of the absolute in time that’s enamoured
of all things, the present its context,
the changeless face of eternity.
