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How wonderful it would be

to stop counting time

forget one’s age

one’s height

one’s past

no hours or minutes

just moon and sun

and endless freedom

to discover

one’s age

one’s wisdom

the world

Art: Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory (1931)





Now or later

While I am here

Or when I am gone

I’d like to see it

The other space

That is just behind it

I can sense it

I don’t believe it

But it’s there

And the time is approaching

I can feel it fraying

I have started picking up loose threads

Soon I will see the gap

And I will be free

























Fragments of the past collect in the corners of my mind

Glistening shards of broken Christmas decorations

fragile and lethal to tiny fingers

Soft and silky carpet of pine needles

in a fragrant forest long ago

Lapping water against a bobbing boat

hot sun spilling reflections like gems

Pages from myriad books

float and settle softly on the floor

A white cat whisker

caught in the weave of a shawl

scratches memories…

I scoop them gently

into a paper boat

and set it free on the wind of time


focus aout05

Art: Benoit Saito





Folded into space

Captured by mortar

Death immortalized


In time





Here we sit

time and me

back to back

and side by side

face to face is too


verging on intimacy

there can be none

between time and me

as we sit together

and apart

constant companions

till death do us part.

Conversation Anthony and Paul2010 copy

Art: Daniel Barkley


the sound



continuous grating

against something

soft and pliable

like skin

air stands still

then moves in waves

shadows whisper

and growl

it’s night


the moon




Suspended between here and now

In a non-existent space

I hover

and weep in frustration

Inert and idle

Unsure and forlorn

I hover

and wait

Centuries and galaxies

pass by

Unseen worlds beckon

But time has stopped for me

Only the ticking sound remains

and counts down

ad infinitum.


Art: Salvador Dali

“The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore


I can hear the past crashing behind me

great chunks of time peeling off

a giant chasm opening up

where my feet once trod

there is no turning back

with time propelling me

faster and faster into the future

as I grasp in desperation for the now

the past rumbling on my heels


what happens if I stop?

will the chasm swallow me?

will the past eat up my present and my future?

how long can I hover on the edge of a precipice

with no turning back?

the future beckons

just as relentless…




Mirror cracks

Reflection scarred

Eyes averted from the shape of time

Memories float like shadows

Linger and die

Scattered shards of broken dreams

Litter the mind

Betrayed and forsaken by no one

And self

Hope rising ghostly pale

Welcomed and feared

Life suspended on frail threads

Heartbeat lifts and falls

Straining to the sound

Of one hand clapping.