I think in portioned harvest
gleaned from sustaining waves
of teemed fish-ed sea and stiff
stem seed-ed fields of now’s
swift impression…all…all image
destined straightaway for decline
in my tissued memory.
I touch instants with my fingers,
hold the seconds of encounter
with dimensional perception
of rough smooth…warm chill,
and I calibrate distinction without
looking for some vast dimension…
for I seek a sensate knowing now
acquaintance with my world.
I command the moment…adjust
choirs of sound…salt sweet sour the
taste within my mouth…and withdraw
to dream sleep quietus until morning’s
promptings of the now.
Artwork by Salvador Dali