Now is
what
never is.
Can't you see it?

Now is just
a suspension,
the bend before
the wave,
not the flow
nor the wave
but
the suspended
breath
of a perpetual
motion.

Winter is here.
Its romantic
******,
frozen death,
nights that linger.
Yet,
arms crying
into windy skies,
trees carry
a pregnancy,
sprouts
like a plague
ripping
every branch.
Oh yes,
spring
is coming.

Now is never.

Quietly,
silently,
let us watch
as time bends,
unfolding
what was
and what
for sure
will be.
Quietly,
silently,
let us ride
that bend
and know
that
never
is now.