Now Poem by Mark Sauer

Like a billowing silken gown that's drawn
Constricted through a finger ring to show
It's sheerness, a diaphanous chiffon
Pulled through the unyielding die of Now
Into a cord that binds the very stars
In this unique aorist pose - this instant
Funnels all futures to one point, and bars
The unchosen wraiths, compacts this moment
Into past which frays as it recedes,
Fanning once again into gauze and mist;
Each cosmos melts as it succeeds
The prior firmament it just dismissed.
So, is my true self Now's fixed golden ring,
Or Time's fleet gossamer, pulled through, flowing?