We plough through
the placid waters of time
bow-sharp into
the blank-canvass sea of occasion.
We part and
sunder,
plundering
possibilities
with selfish
presence
and grateful
ignorance.
We face and ride
the wave of opportunity
or bruise from
amidship ambush
when we veil our
eyes.
Nothing stands
still
in our daily
dalliance with time.
In our wake,
disturbed and
turbulent,
eddies of
happenstance,
eccentricities
in mobile
peculiarity,
splash and kiss
their embrace.
And that moment
is gone,
trailing away,
the distance
metamorphosing,
homogenising,
restoring
the placid waters
of a different
time.
Written upon
by our oars.
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