The past stood not behind us then
but onward, where old futures loomed
before the prospects yet to be.
Anticipating history,

we could be passing being born,
experiencing innocence,
establishing our origins,
just watching clocks spin backward, stop

when hours cease to signify
or sum potential measurements,
like distance lived inside a life
or what's the place of any age.

Few findings hinge on stillness now:
unending presence pivotal,
the sole point to survive the truth
that time's designed to disappear

those moments one should name a space,
meander through remembrance
or speculate on prophecies.
The present centers everything:

who wasn't, what would never show,
why something is or must become.
Continuum. No days or nights.
At once, right here, all cause unites.