The Moment and Metre of Who We Are

Forget time and space and the foreverness of all,

Move on from the speed in which an apple will fall,

Switch off the observatories chasing light from the past,

Stop trying, for a moment, to lure our future in, fast.

Because this is for the now, as quietly as it arrived,

Everything but this moment is so awkwardly contrived.

This is also for the here, miniscule and metres long,

Four walls that we know so well, the place where we belong.

The plainness of a Tuesday, not a futuristic tomorrow,

The homeliness of a kitchen, not the cosmic reach we dare to borrow.

The moment that we’re in right now, the room we occupy right here,

The mundanity of daily life - it’s kept us alive, right, my dear?

The when and where of who we are, it’s always the same.

Despite our ravenous curiosity, these are the rules to the game.

We can strive to live however long and venture however far.

But it’s always here and now, today. The moment and metre of who we are.