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There is no thing

called time,

no container where things happen

in linear progression,

some things of a receding past

now filling the present

and becoming some ‘later’.

Since there is no separate thing

called time,

myriad times may manifest,

each as a being,

each as life-and-death,

each time at once manifesting

in myriad ways, so that each

may be as they are:

the occasion in which you sit

in the backyard hammock reading

is also another time

(so that the two

are interpenetrating

yet non-obstructed)

of a warbler in full throat.

Just so do endless

being-times form this,

this not one not two.


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