They call it a present,
this time in which we live.
And not only because
we did nothing to earn it,
couldn’t buy it if our lives
depended on it, not now,
not ever for if you cling to it,
it disappears, vanishes, evaporates.
No, it’s the present because it comes
unadorned, unburdened, free.
It’s pliable, malleable, ours
to work with, to use, to enjoy,
to share. And accepting it, but not
its older and younger siblings,
yesterday and tomorrow,
we receive it without ribbons
of regret or concern, the castoffs
invested with fears.