two watches tell two times
we all have one face and two hands
two hundred thirty six years of human experience
per second on the earth

lightning strikes how many times per day
and we bottle the thunder and shelve it
for the curious to find, in a hundred —
maybe a thousand seasons, bowling them over
resonating fresh as the day it was made

the first scribe listened and sang
without pen or paper
that events might come alive again forever
the worlds inside of us our greatest tool
reality be damned

our timelines are fragmented
our path is not linear
it never was and
even at the speed of light
events are observed out of order

we are looking through so many windows into the past;
do not forget to build your own
because in the end
we are all already dead (but life is about living)
peering out of those windows
eyes brimming

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