nathanael.ink

While I was sleeping a mosquito
carried by, on it’s back, the time
between past and future out
to some place, I don’t know, but
out of my reach assuredly.
Now, I woke with a hundred
moments carried by on the backs
of some hundred insects unknown
to me, assuredly, wandering around
wasting the time I hoped so hard to
be wasting myself when
I awoke a dreamer in daylight with
the future tied to my right and my left
bound up tightly with the past
spreading my arms out wide
so that with my eyes I could see
finally the Present, whom,
incidentally, loves
alluding me. Time is like
little insect wings
in that they carry on so easily without me.