Traces of others,
other
beings, in this now, ours, yours
his, hers, each
other
an other mind with a me and you
as other wise.
When I thought of you, then
I thought of me, of us, as a we,
agreeing,
aggressively gratifying a curiosity, a we
some grace makes possible, put right,
here at now,
awesome, not unmazing, not taking out,
not loosing in diabolic twists from known, no.
Now, in all time,
way out there where our augmented eyes stare
into the light of day, way, way far away, out there
where when is moot,
now is all the time we made, by being willing
to wander down a stack of words all lined up, pretty.
The privilege, the personal enjoyment, I take, from this time we live in, at the edge of print, to use words to soothe any ache of wasted years... I think prayer is probably not what it was first thought to be...