Close your eyes.
Now open them.
I read a news story this morning about
a woman who has no
memory, yet she paints
and draws. What she draws
was not specified, but I imagine
that the first things she sees
are a miraculous revelation
to her unencumbered mind. The
act of her brush strokes completing her
works must fill
her with the present.
And yet, when my reminiscences
flood, and I am overcome, I write
to place them somewhere less painful or
more beautiful that allows them to
live tangential lives. Maybe, so I can
dwell in the present.
Here also is the transition from day to night
or night to day.