If it were not time but space
constraining,
not once tethered to a starting day,
welcome to explore the before
and then
but never there.
Our anchor becomes place
and the distance never far
I imagine odd little shapes
overlapping across the planes.
We know no more than those
we touch, and lesser see
one step a year
in varying directions until you slip
from reach, receding
and are gone, for me.
Just as my child appeared before
me, as a miracle
already reaching, insisting
her right to go.
What role has growth here–
when all is and was simply are
within the definition of one place.
This all we own.
If it were not time but space
constraining–
turn learning, life, death, the belief in seasons
on their side,
watch them struggling into solutions
matrixed magic rearranging,
only to fall exhausted into the new
definitions for space and time.