RSS Feeds

Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Now

Where is now?
I have misplaced it.
I live in the past,
in the future,
now has no name.
I simply exist,
and between you and me,
that is enough.
There is no death in now,
although I am dying.

I have learned
that walls disappear in now.
They need the history
of wood and stone.
In now,
they have no place to stand.
If I place them there,
like a cloud,
like the separation
of light and shadow,
I walk through them
and they disappear.

So too are eyelids, mouths and faces.
My loved ones,
going about their lives in now.
They are always here,
finding me,
shouting,
going away.
But we are together,
sometimes half a world away,
feeling the openness of a beach,
hearing music in a street,
passing windows with silver eyes.

All together,
woven by cords of touching
and calling,
walking through rooms,
gazing into cups.
The past is illusion,
the future a tomb.
Only here,
in the presence of a heartbeat
do I recall
something called time.

An hourglass of grain
flowing,
one side to another
in the space of now.
It doesn’t matter.
What happens is a dream.
Time,
the invisible side of nothing.

Leave a Reply