The new man is born too old to tolerate the new world. The present conditions of life have not yet erased the traces of the past. We run too fast, but we still do not move enough. He looks but he does not contemplate, he sees but he does not think. He runs away from time, which is made of thought, and yet all he can feel is his own time, the present. ― Eugenio Montale
Possibilities of many minds
They peep forward in time
Slowly time ticks away
Present becomes Past
Future is Present today
Of all the habits I picked
You were worst and best
I do not present explaining
Why we did what we did
Of all things that I have sad
Every walk was a test
I can still taste presence
Of your perfect defenses
Some things ever escape
Perfectly modeled cages
What is it that I seek?
In these cracks in time
All’s lost and sand
Here I too stand
Eagerly
