When faced with the woven richness

of each slipping second,

I am confounded by its

mystery, absurdity, improbability,

each a miraculously stitched detail

in varying shades of the same thread.

 

When  meditating

upon physiology of this being,

I can see how the headbone’s

connected to the backbone,

but asking how the heartbone’s

connected to the rainbow,

is a phenomenally fleeting fancy.

 

Where is the now of this very moment?

An ephemeral essence,

lingering upon the mind’s eye,

to be lost and witnessed,

more subtle than the breath of a bee,

more fragile than the heart of a butterfly

beating the odds – a winding down clock.

 

This is beyond a sense that is common,

and beyond the grasp of a humble hand;

it is the faint fragrance of a primal memory,

nurtured in the nursery,

played out by the quixotic,

protagonists in the playground of quotidian,

an egotistic boomerang.

 

So what is mine and mind?

where do I end and you begin?

To see the conundrum, the continuous koan

of life and death, of mind and breath;

do I want to be me or an Oak tree,

aren’t we the same? A branch of humanity,

seasoned with bittersweet reality.

 

© Where this is, that becomes  01.07.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/380906080956976077/

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