A Poem: Time Tomorrow

There is time tomorrow
for everything,
but for poetry
there is only
now,

beckoning
in the way a bubble
builds,
is blown into the wind,
bursts.

There is time for everything
tomorrow,

but the poem
is a piece of driftwood,
sea-glass,
a heart shaped stone,

that small miracle
in the sand
we walk past,
miss
if not looking.

Though the poem
is a bubble blown,
it’s more than
the elements of which
its comprised.

Connected to its source,
it is a fountain pen
that won’t run dry;
or paint

in the hands of an artist
who lets the canvas
choose the colours,
follows suit.

How the poet
captures the flow
in the moment lived,
so deft and quick,

adept at bottling and sealing,
before the bubble
on the brink,
expands,
takes off.

How there is time
tomorrow
for everything.

Everything else,
but this.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
May 2022

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