Do not be so quick to wish away this moment,
For before you blink, it’s whisked away, forever,
Unfolding like all previous moments on life’s vast canvas,
Stretched tapestry seeming to move beyond horizons in all directions.
Or is the moment folded in upon inside itself,
A hidden dimension undetermined and reduced to a singularity,
Blinking out of existence —
To open in a flutter of quantum fluctuations later?
Try to hold it, but you lose it,
Bleeding away past the tightly-wadded fist,
Sand slipping fast through slits between grasping fingers.
The past becomes a blurry, faraway memory seen
From looking over time’s shoulder.
Turning back and around in this chaos,
The unthinkable future appears just as out of focus.
Yet Someone holds the Book,
Its pages written, encrypted
With every story of every moment,
And He sees the entirety of it,
Bound between covers of His creation.
This moment is every moment to I AM.
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