unknown age

for all the features it hoards and displays
age seems to be without substance at any time

whether morning or evening it is a moment of air
held between the hands like a stunned bird

while i stand remembering light in the trees
of another century on a continent long submerged

with no way of telling whether the leaves at that time
felt memory as they were touching the day

and no knowledge of what happened to the reflections
on the pond's surface that were never seen again

the bird lies still while the light goes on flying

- w.s. merwin


what is it that keeps us wanting what we had before?
or for that matter - what we have never held?
settling into the presence of breath, light..
the full belly..the empty fist..
the days float by like honey pie
we are sticky with the sweetness of life
the unknown step, step
that walks us further into now


'solvitur ambulando'
it is solved by walking