These days we tell our
health, if not our age,
by the pills we take.
I notice this fact
as I go to fill
my pill dispenser.
Then I note, as well,
the very act proves
a fine way to tell
if I am present.
The moment’s spur is
the eternal space
between this and that
act, becoming fact
before our very
eyes. Just so, whate’er
we may do draws us
nigh unto practice
of the presence of
the intimacy
of ultimacy.
Like spilling a full
pill box on the floor—
a bitter pill to swallow.
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