March 24, 2002

  • Why is my *now*
    forever always your *yet*?
    We seek a simultaneity
    that time will never beget.
    Though each moment of mine
    blazes as brilliant soul-lightning,
    your grasp of that moment
    is more along the nature of thunder heard.
    And thus by delay beset,
    and with synchronicity, if only by nanoseconds,
    rendered misfit,
    we’d regress to perfect loneliness
    (if rationality would permit).

    Even if we huddled in a near-time
    of sweet bubbling caresses,
    each very moment of self
    would remain an instant separated
    by a fleeting temporal chasm
    interposing between near and far
    like a pane of glass
    between two lovers’ kisses.


    So thus with exactness doomed
    by time and its distancing inventions,
    I shall never know the precise moment of you
    in your timeless immediate bloom.


    Still...
    We can dance:
    Arrange our near-instances
    into a synchronous prance.
    Interlope and leap in tandem,
    knowing that the moments we each have to ourselves
    are, nonetheless, perfectly-matched,
    step for step,
    changing yet changing together,
    in this flurry,
    this romance,
    this collusion of flashing and dashing:
    our dance.

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