Dragons at Dusk: All Our Yesterdays
Time is not duration but intensity; time is the beat and the interval… — Ursula K. Le Guin
The Moon appears urgent through the trees… Once she rises, time empties into space, leaving night to eternity. Trees orbit themselves, ringing in one year after another, thickening, before entropy hollows out all their yesterdays. Skies reduce mountains to hills, through eons of wind and rain, proving thin-air can reduce something to almost nothing. Just a breath shapes this fleeting thought… Relativity never accounts for inspired moments, those intervals where oceans can fit into a water glass and the fate of many-worlds linger at the tip of a pen, all in a breath of time. Children know how to play games with seasons, while music remembers how to never be forgotten, even if a song is entangled with a moment, before becoming something else. Nothing remains, or it would be left behind, even if everything is subject to its own time, from the mountain to the sea, especially, ourselves. All is passing through…
And every inch of space in your head Is filled up with the things that you read I guess that you’ve got everything now Everything now… — Arcade Fire: Everything Now
Even the dullest moment is a culmination of all Time… The problem with adventures is that there’s no time for reflection, just as wind obliterates a sky-doubling sea, leaving clouds with nothing to look down on but restlessness. Songs would collapse into noise if they considered their own intervals, just as wisdom dissolves when watered-down slogans follow. Time articulates everything, even silence… A library is meaningless unless a book is chosen, little more than a building with sections of forgotten things. Existence is a song, no matter how poorly it’s sometimes played, this hum giving way to that caterwaul. It’s tempting to imagine listening to everything, all at once, but even Speed Metal is performed a-note-at-a -time. Literary time passes through eventful words, but it’s the wordless chorus that sings eternal through the waking world. All is in flux, but all of us are only One…
She was very weary; the day had been long, and full of dragons… — Ursula K. Le Guin
It’s hard to believe how many lives we’ve lived… I woke up a Romantic and went to bed an Existentialist, before dreams reminded me of Jung. Yesterday held oceans, nameless worlds of water that changed every time I blinked. A late Summer cloud grew into a mountain, before it darkened with Doom, only to rain back down into another restless sea. I felt deeply, but soon thought I was growing shallow, just as the bay emptied and showed me we were kin. Dragons passed like hawks on Dusk’s horizon, before a jumbo jet was dwarfed by a little cloud. It looked like Fall but felt like the bayou, even if drought turned it all brown. Everything was in flux, just like always, even if yesterday probably won’t distinguish itself from all the ones before. And yet…nothing was unimportant, not even the dull intervals. Now that I think about it…it was a pretty good song.
Hayden Moore
- I will be attending the NYC Poetry Festival this Saturday/Sept. 10, on Governor’s Island. M.T. Pariti — an extraordinary poet and friend I met on this platform — invited me and I’m excited to see who and what the festival holds. I’ve included a link to festival information below, for anyone living in the NYC area, or those of you who might be curious. Feel free to reach out!
