Seldom do we arrive in the moment

Rewinding back, skipping forward

Not to the good parts either

The places we are stuck

 

Forgetting we can be, different

Self organized solidity from infinity

Same thoughts, unconscious acts

And permanence endures

 

There are some who can hold space

For us, and themselves

Time slows here

Bending of an illusion

 

Seeing beauty in the minutia

No urge to be elsewhere

Presenting opportunities of Now

Upward, outward expansion

 

Our inner world ignites

Flushed with stirrings of a new dream

A point of intersect

Meeting at the death of us and them

 


(c) Can Stock Photo