I seem propelled through life

as day and nights

and objects and faces,

thoughts and feelings whip past,

blurred and torn out of shape

in slipstream at the eye’s corner –


I cannot hold life’s moments

long enough for understanding,

the engine at my back.


Only when you hold me

does this headlong rush stop

long enough for understanding,

it’s disconnected energies swirl round

to enfold us.


3:15 p.m. 6 March 1985

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