Born in the past, I’ll die in the future,
what is that to me?
All that exists, is now.

Yellow dandelions on green grass
stretch across the lawn, thunderheads
in the sky, this is real.

All that I have done is a memory,
all I will do is a guess.
Right now, with this keyboard.

Touch the button, the words disappear.
Sent out into the net.
They are no longer real.

Until someone says,”Hey, I liked your poem,”
does it become real again.
Unless it doesn’t. Nothing is real.


  1. Funny: just this evening I walked down a path and then returned on it, and it was only on the way back that I noticed a stretch of earth full of dandelions. It reminded me how it is our attention, our being present, that makes moments real. Enjoyed this poem!


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