In the Moment
by Alan Thibeault

Looking back and forth

Forty-something 

Born on a hillside
white and sere with winter
save for stolid pines
needles rustling in cold clear wind
sunshine painfully bright

Life is composed
one might suppose
of years;
years made of days;
days fragmenting into hours
and minutes
which moments
constitute;
moments like this one:

           Here.

Born seated at a desk
harsh flourescent light
dusty air
carpet old and stained
cold, air-conditioned breeze

Born midstride
concrete sidewalk
bustling city street
returning the smile of a stranger
horns blaring rudely

Born on the couch
watching a beer commercial
waiting impatiently
for the ballgame
to start

We\'re always born
constantly born
mid-climax
mid-sentence
pre-embarkation
post-debarkation

Constant falling
constant climbing
constant crashing
lying on the beach

I was born

     (wailing)

into such a moment
as I am
over
and over again
and yet
again

and again

Any moment

each moment

this moment:

         Here.