It is in these rare seconds
When the body is stilled
By afternoon rivers like the Seine
When we momentarily look out
From the banks, come upon finest
Seine, upon a sudden space
From the tight spiral of our lives.
We are informed by shadow
Quietly fishing from a rock:
By reflections on the river wall
Of the sun busy with colors
On a canvas of late water.
Alone, we stall on the time
We stole from colleagues on
A bus and cathedral hunts:
Time when we stand in Paris
That is not only Paris, fall
Back to a home not merely Asia:
Time when we catch some unity
Of spheres, and find the gleam
Of our only permanence: a simple
Small matter blending in the all
Of a singular tide: bedded in that
Cosmic wash and hidden dash.
Montage Vol. 6 • August 2002
