If I could stop and give what you wanted to see,
still the axis by the flick of my fingers
and pause this perpetual motioning,
I would.
And things would tilt and change
in a slow-paced cooker,
cast-iron windowpanes,
and frames and frames of days and hours just like this.

But I am not this.
I cannot still
and be what is right here and now
in this splice of time-worn space that is constantly
slipping forward on a light-drawn pace.
For the earth that moves in the heart of me
is drawn by a rending gravity,
all sliding in dance;
one-step, two,
towards the sea.

Featured image: a photo of  ‘Space that Sees’ by James Turrell at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem