So much is of the
blur, the motion
the non-stopness
of one day
after another.

The accumulation
of life-scenes
and whether one
processes them
or not, let alone

These daze I prefer
the moment,
the extended stills
that transcend film.

In those you can
really see the details
and some sense in what
a diminished world
is, means, or once was.

It is the steady gaze,
the single photo
that speaks of
beauty and detail
for the beholding.

So much of life
is flow, the crazy
and distraction.
Less of it to do
with apprehension
by eyes, mind,
heart and soul
of wholeness.

(Clouds and trees
reflected in water.
The distant coast,
a boat
leaving a wake.
A road ribboning
up and down hills
like a storybook.
Tom Thomson
fall forests
and blue lakes.)

There is a glory
to permanence
in nature above all
on a windless day
as lived by self.

The other world,
public and restless,
a remote facsimile
of faux-connect,
beaten up by flux
and man’s desires
for “me”, ignorance,
and usage.

Sad truth
belieing a much
deeper quest
for nourishment.

No, eternity is best
a photograph
that slows time
and change
to mere notion
of perspective.

In that
soundless image,
unchanging and unchanged,
the dream, the moment,
and a far better hope
and view.

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