The Now (2)

The now is like a vacant space
Where time unfolds without a trace,
And nothing anyone can do
Can halt the turning of this screw.

Not one of us can up and leave
The restaurant on New Year’s Eve
And find ourselves a street away
On hallowed ground on New Year’s Day.

Yet what arises here and now
Has what it takes to soothe each brow;
It furnishes the asking price
To pave the road to Paradise.

Each one of us wants just one thing:
To bind their severed navel-string.

Photo by the blowup on Unsplash

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