I accepted time more easily than most. It made me
Worse. I never hungered much for time machines,At least not into my own past, but I was therefore
Unmoored from faith in an eternity, any eternity, any
Permanent, fictional thing, whether god or mountain,
Law or principle. Durable means changing more slowly
Than the neighborhood of changing surroundings.
The oldest rock art remains, stripped of meaningful context
And younger than the sun that is slowly but inevitably
Exhausting its giant, steady, ordinary-star sized
Fire. I accepted that, much as I disliked the implications,
Because time doesn't keep everything from happening
At once, it keeps everything from not happening at all,
At least for a little while. Difference is all. The end result
Ends all. Can't have anything existing without everything
Passing away, I said, wanting of course more existing
For me, more eternity passing away. That's what was
Wrong with me as I sat by a plate-glass window to eat,
Sun on the torn vinyl booth, traffic passing on the street.
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