Being Here, Now.

maybe it’s like the sun –

that quietly slides up and down

the oily sky, then gone

and there again.

maybe it’s a prayer –

gently caressing the cheeks of capricious gods and

serving them nectar and honey and

blood and

heads.

maybe it’s paper –

pregnant with words and

pictures that are not-

yet.

maybe it’s may be.

or a shrug of the shoulders

or eyebrows raised.

a not, a not-yet, a yes

or maybe, may-be-not.

or perhaps, like chance –

leaping randomly,

without thought nor circumstance.

leaping from waking to dreaming

hopping from man to woman,

leaping from boy to girl

to real to imagined.

hopping and leaping on

shoulders, or suns, prayers

or papers.

surely, it’s just a flitting chance

that we Be at all –

the caprices of protons and laws.

The weight of significance floating

above our heads.