Just yesterday I noticed
somewhere else
the present moment, and all the past
for that matter,
always held the future
simultaneously
rolling it in palm
and under tongue.
These multiverses,
Baoding balls,
hum like crystal lips
and harmony comes out
making the individual notes
indivisible.
Presently,
today, Wednesday,
all rolls along in a blur,
small talk keeps time
separated from the thing itself
and it can only be tasted or felt
one side at a time
just like listening.
Today,
I read a little poem
about transformation
or metamorphosis,
it seems we have always known
these things take time.
Then again, I half expected it
to move too fast.
Sometimes shapeshifts
were mere projections
of light.
Painting by Nelson A. Primus (1842-1916) 'The Fortune Teller' c. 1898 SCAD Museum of Art [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
