Moment

In the Romanesque church round stones

that ground down so many prayers and generations

kept humble silence and shadows slept in the apse

like bats in winter furs.

We went out. The pale sun shone,

tinny music tinkled softly

from a car, two jays

studied us, humans,

threads of longing dangled in the air.

The present moment is shameless,

taking its foolish liberties

beside the wall

of this tired old shrine,

awaiting the millions of years to come,

future wars, geological eras,

cease-fires, treaties, changes in climate—

this moment—what is it—just

a mosquito, a fly, a speck, a scrap of breath,

and yet it’s taken over everywhere,

entering the timid grass,

inhabiting stems and genes,

the pupils of our eyes.

This moment, mortal as you or I.

was full of boundless, senseless,

silly joy, as if it knew

something we didn’t.