The Paradox of Linearity

by Mary E. Lowd

Someday nothing will pass before my eyes
No touches will startle my senses
The spark igniting my mind will die
My experience of this world will have ended

But these lines are immortal
Lasting on and on
A string plucked in the universe
Forever resonating, on and on
For once the words are written
They’re always written
(Forget forgotten)
(It only means something to you—
—inside your mind)
Out here, everything that happens
Has forever happened
And in the past is always
—will always be—

Am I the moment happening?
Or am I the observer of moments?
Am I immortal (like my words)
Or intrinsically transient?

Always alive
—once happened
Always happening—
Or always dying?
Each moment, passing from one self
To the next?

Am I the same author who started
Writing this poem
Only moments

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