Something About Impending Rain

How to square experience of the eternal
with the evidence of passing time?

Might matter be at once the product
and detritus of the energetic moment –

at its generation indistinguishable
from it – even as it’s left behind?

Is everything a constantly accreting
carapace of something too fine to divine?

Something seems to want to – cannot – sing:
instead, bears silent witness to the thing.



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