Everything is running,
seemingly towards somewhere
but there is nowhere to go,
only to circle.
There are no presence
but the mirrors of self that fence us from others,
the mirror of
here
that burgeons
to everywhere,
the mirror of now that burgeons
to always!
Like sands in the hourglass,
like sands in the sandbanks,
in the deserts,
in the makeup of rocks,
like water,
like planets around stars,
like wheels of a Swiss watches
rolling on and on
going nowhere
just to continue,
just to hold
the position of now.
like a plant always going
never arriving.
