Sunday, January 19, 2020

Not Even Not Zen 195: Illusion of Presence

Illusion of Presence

This is to the next moment that occurs
not this one
or the one you thought you were living in
when you began this
but the moment after,

after she said, "We are in this time machine,"
put her pale hand against a black plastic camera,
and described how it would take us
to the smallest units of time,
to the only changes indivisible

between this and the next moment,
between the blade of her tongue and her teeth
as she told me, "I've got to see us both,"
smiled and swung her kinky hair,
always in motion,
like the bright-iron blood through her arm,
like the sweat from our palms.

"We are each in a different time," she said.
"You there and I here in different places,
in different currents, motions so close ...
I can feel the moisture from your breath,
the rhythm of your pulse
though we are not together,
parts of us apart in time
as we reach out for this kiss."

When she spoke she leaned forward
so the machine could catch her lips against mine,
our bonded flesh an ocean of waves between us,
as the black machine swept with us
into a sea of particles.

We went to meet that single wave
she hoped would carry us both.
Her mouth opened, parted to touch me
for the smallest moment we will be together.

This is to the next moment that occurs
because in the next moment, as always, we will all be changed,
mass in motion, molecules tumbling,
rushing through our veins, our arms, our palms, our lips,
into the next moment.

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