The Event

Event plus time equals eventually.
Before event is the pivot then after.
More befores and afters make eventful time.
Simultaneously less before and after.
Eventless time is feelable.
Eventful time is invisible.
More events cause more anticipation.
More events cause more disappointment.
Less anticipation brings the event upon us.
Less disappointment means more events.
The unreal event is not in time.
The real event is now.

The Now Before

What was it like
When before was now,
When what you had done
You are doing
And the seed of your hand
Is planting
And has not yet ripened
Into consequence?

What was it like
To be in a now
That could not yet be
Remembered or forgotten,
Where everything else
Was gone or to come,
Where everything else
Was nothing?

And now?
Now that a tree has grown
From your hand,
A tree that casts a shadow
Over your house?
Now that you recall
And cannot forget
Everything that happened?

Now that the future
Has never come
And the past
Can never return
And again and again
There is nothing
Before or after?
What now?

Nothing moving.
No warning.
Not losing or gaining.
Something always missing.
Time not passing.
Always changing.
The strange waiting.
That's living.

The Present

The present fills emptiness with memories.
The lost memory is also what it means.

The present cannot lose its meaning.
The meaning holds everything in position.

The position of the present is where the string is.
The string is in the egg.

The present, unlike the egg, never cracks.
The truth is there is no way out of it.

The outside of the present is pregnant.
The outside of the present gives birth to now.

The problem with now is it's gone.
The present recycling itself into eternity.

Scattered Prophecy

What happens what happens like it will.
One bit of the future breaking from the present.
Hooking the mind with prophecy.
Linking forward until now is pulled on chains.
Foretelling being what in the future pulls.
Like it did when it will.

The Sufficiency of the Moment

Whose words will be
the last I'll ever read?
Little peacock tail waving me
Just as much purpose
as in anything.
The moment is always
To a floating jug.
To the addition of the past.
To the death in you
that you have to learn
until it loses you
on a mountain with no crest.
Up up up
or down down down.
A hill ripping itself
from the sky
doesn't feel the clutching
of the ant on its back.
A view
is like a memory.
Full of what you think
you saw.
The moment
has no perspective.
Just the ear listens.
Just the eye sees.
Those last words
you ever read.
Mute like the future's shout.

The Moment is Always Silent

The moment is a cold stone.

The moment is coastal.

The moment renounces the forgotten.

The moment is reconciled to the forgotten.

The moment tousles with mystery.

The moment translates your language
          into your language.

The moment is always silent.

The moment is a hollow
          filled with yourself.

The moment contains all
          of what you dream is necessary.

               Margie Cronin 2006