The vast majority of our only known home is submerged
In a singular element.
Gallons and currents and waves,
Depth and surface, qualities
Which hardly divide it,
The unified whole, as far as can be seen,
The entirety of what is known of our lives exists
In a singular progression.
Years and hours and moments,
Long or brief, measurments
Which do naught to divide it,
The universal present, the only experience possible eternally.
Within this omnipresent permanence existing, our bodies - drops in the ocean and mere flashes in time.
Who is to say that Love - its objects, time or placement notwithstanding - is not
All that we are, united, the one and only
Whole that we can ever be?
If not a poem than a prayer of some kind, I suppose?