Writing in the spaces within the moment as it moves from
not-yet to all-done, I’m becoming something I don’t know.
Time the vast open rolling prairie of now, and now, and now
again and I seem to be everynowhere in it, shadows taffy-pulled
from long to short to long so fast they disappear, light
like wind on my changed skin. It’s now I’m bicycling down past
the reservoir to Van Houten’s farm and then back behind the
stables to the little stream, pussywillow hiding me as I wade
knee-deep herding sucker-fish it’s now I smell the butterscotch
of Ponderosa pine near a paho bearing someone’s prayer on the
mountain and it’s still now I’m plunging a 5-pound pick-axe
into damp caliche to dig out Johnsongrass while Peter thins and
re-roots the overgrown ginger, every now the best, the only now,
time now space the size (wider deeper running right past the edge
of creation) unfathomable.