Becalmed on the lake, held between
water and sky, surrounded by reality
and its reflection, you’re tricked by time.

Now stretches endlessly before
and behind and around you,
a single stream, or so it seems.

But close your eyes and Now
splits into slivers, into splinters,
the beat of the dragonfly’s wing,

the unmeasurable interval
between the glint of a fish
and your perception of Fish.

A leaf that floats beside the canoe
has no doubt taken its time
from the tree to this precise spot,

to be here, now, beside you,
at this precise moment in time,
when you open your eyes

to a sun standing still in the sky.