Before I Entered Time
I’m not blowing smoke, nor am I a sage.
It’s a simple condition:
The universe may as well not have been before;
in fact, “before” did not exist until I entered time.
There’s not one memory I can hang a word upon
before I entered time.
Before was just void, as blank as the sheet of this page
before something keyed this poem’s first “I”
at the beginning.
At this moment I’m somewhere around
“there’s not one memory”, (noted above)
and, by the time I get to “stop”, (likewise noted below),
will there be any words still worth saying,
any word still worth doing?
As I drift from time will there be anything
more than smoke of a doused fire curling up
cycling against gravity —something lighter than air?
But then, will the music stop?
Jim Culleny
8/14/19