All I know of life is that
it changes.
These words, I have written
but they can’t be written enough, battered
into the daily slow pondering —
— too minute to notice —
— blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time passing life passing —
in a second over, rebuilt in a lifetime
that could last anywhere between a breath
and the endless gap between now and then.
Everything I have, had, thought I had —
Well, the risks are nothing, when the chips are seconds
(even God made the world in seven days, not minutes,
and then he, even almighty he,
rested.)
The world is moving, and tearing, and changing,
and I, here in the eye, am
weathering.