Time is not the net.
Time is for us now a perpetually rushing wave
and we are constantly taken under.
Time is the water around me
the sea I cannot yet escape.
I thrash
escalating my fears by disturbing matter at higher frequencies
but time never changes.
I remain submerged in both its joys and pains.
These are the nearest elements
as buoyant and inflated as I am
all coined and caught, pulled and soon buried.
Here, self-control is a relentless siren and treading
does not sustain me.
Time is rushing, perpetual, water
and only the Mystery above my diaphragm keeps me floating.
Soon I will rise and know what I trust:
some do escape.
And there is indeed a net wider than the sea.
This article appears in August 2014.
