Poets and Pundits and Scribes
This particular moment of this particular day
is the only time in which we’re sure to have our say.
Life lived moment to moment is the single choice we have.
For past pains and for future wounds, now is the only salve.
I spread its gift over myself. Its healing unguent lingers.
The world that I make out of it coils out beneath my fingers.
I drift back to my past times, I project to tomorrow.
Times actual and potential are moments that I borrow
to wrap my attitude around to write daily depictions
of what my life consists of—its confessions and its fictions.
We skirt around the details of what we think is actual,
but nothing ever written has been totally factual.
I write what I remember and what I hope will be,
then press it onto paper for perpetuity.
Today’s prompt was particular.