after reading poetry posted

we move so close
remain so far
like a gangly limbed blue muppet
racing to and from a screen
"nearrrrrr"
"farrrrr"
hit.
send.
repeat.

(it is not an ocean
it is not a land
it is...
a space unnamed)

having stood on the stones
that have been calling out for
26 years
built dynasties before becoming
(or maybe we too carved them
our reward to see them in a more luxurious life)
the past present and future all
collided in the blue
sending out
flashes of light
and a visage in the sky
all the way back and all the way forward
hitting right into the exact present
which is now
past
still happening.

time being a conundrum
time exceeding hands...
perhaps... it has already happened
this thing that has not.
perhaps... it too
just waits hanging in the blue of above...
appearing only in the after.
like a star that died long ago
but only now from the edges of this black hole
do we see it.

whether we race towards or from
whether we stand cocoon still -- not moving even (one) wing
still time flutters
still time moves
still time cannot be
stilled.

and the muppet running madly
near then far
far then near
repeating
hit.
send.
arms flailing
does it really matter?
does it change a thing?

and yet
and yet
as issa wrote

... and yet...

opening rumi's window after last night's moon

each eve
letting winter's light in.

hitting send.
repeat.

and the muppet sleeps
so
peacefully
upon stones smoothed by hard fought battles
whose losses and winnings
spun today into as it is.
relieved of
controlling hands.


kim thompson. seoul. s. korea. 22.10 on 11 dec 11 sunday