but the moment was so ambrosial,
like snow melting in gorgeous chestnut hair,
like Coltrane's Favorite Things for the hundred-thousandth time,
like the morning Sun shining
through Manuka honey
slowly dripping off my spoon into
the black abyss of my coffee cup.

I am present.
I promise, ya.

I'm indebted to the
wretched headtrips of "yesterday"
for never letting me do more
than whisper a single death wish
(thank you)
between labored breaths.
I'm deathless now.
just flesh stretched tight over bright smiling, and otherwise unbridled,
sunlight in love with just being here to lend the luminosity in the first place.

I only learn of grace
from kids grinning and ripping birthday gifts open in grainy VHS tapes I probably shoplifted from the local thrift shop.
Either there or on park benches
tossing seeds to flocks of pigeons
cooing at my feet.
Did you know they were brought
to this country by immigrant chefs?

Again, I'm present.
Honestly.
I'm as conscious of it all as it gets;
the God of the phenomenological slog
we all call "the now",
unbound from His vow of vigilance
in the watch-and-plot of all apocalyptic
loss of momentum...

my attention span is like
incense smoke curling out of
a monastery window somewhere
in the Himalayas,
like the hidden weight of a whispered "thank you",
like the half empty silver cigarette case rattling in Camus' coatpocket as he walks,
collar up and head down,
to Café de Flore for breakfast.
or lunch.
or...

I'm present.
I promise.
(thank you)
I'm present.
Honest to God.
(thank you)

I'm ******* nowhere.
no, thank you.

I'm present.