I launch the time machine by opening
this case of photographs locked against time
present and future. Even places (Newark, Paris)
frozen sepia and white 100 years removed
marveling at light and air from 2017.
The battery in my watch is dead,
so all day it has been 10:15.
The hands reclining, head up and napping.
At noon, I glanced at its face –
time for coffee, or time for bed.
Waking in a feverish afternoon and thinking,
“It’s much too early to get up.”
Realizing the sun is somehow now misplaced,
rising in the west, I weakly stand.
I’m a sundial gnomon. My shadow warped.
We paint, take the photo, record light
changing around us, trying desperately to catch
the moment, hold it for the future,
get a second chance – and always fail.
The moment changed. The artist more changed.
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” ~ Anaïs Nin
This time of predictions and resolutions.
Year’s end reflection back, and looking forward.
That river of time, downstream as distant
and unclear as upstream, and before me
passing before I knew it was here.