“Nearly done?” “Oh, yes! At 10 I’m free—
at ease, relief from summer heat—and then
tomorrow all over again. Dumb to the day.”
“But every second the universe is fresh,
reborn before our eyes. We just connect
the seconds in habits, and lose the juice in squeezes.”
Both are on, but each is wrapped
in their own present . . . exclusive exclusion.
How about it open? Reaching
to touch each other so novel shows old,
accustomed comes current, until we see
a shadowy synthesis forming, blinking
and slowly shifting into the light.