And we are not here.
Multitudes wait to be born;
"Now" is elusive.
Streaking by at quarky speeds
Too swift to be perceived.
But any moment, even our last moment,
Can still be divided infinitely
Life swings us back to here and now,
As the metronome dances from side to side
Effortlessly leaping past the curious, infinite middle point.
We don't even think about the wonder.
In a photograph taken three years ago
You are here, and not here,
You're hiding alive in that infinite, quarky instant.
Where we remain coexistent.
We are here now
And we are not here now.
We are already dead
And waiting to be born.
We still take walks
In the somewhen.
October 14, 2013
Karen Morris Muriello