Most of us spend our time
never noticing
that time isn't ours
to spend;
that each moment belongs
nowhere,
has no target
to acquire.
But what
kind of compound
slight of hand
could it take? to realize
that the feeling
is only an impulse,
and an impulse
is precision-
made
out of nothing.
*
Imagine
the Grand Canyon
filled to the brim
with religious
memorabilia—
Christ himself
would be gobsmacked
at the sight
of Judas Iscariot—
of all of us—oblivious,
just walking across
unharmed.
