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A Moment After

The movement of time

Is shaken in these seas, and what one does

One moment has no might upon the moment

That follows after.

—Yeats, The Shadowy Waters


 

What, though we may suppose it might,

Could bind together the halves, once severed,

Of this fruit upon the world’s great serving dish

If each moment it’s remade anew,

With just a shadow

Of the old to play upon the mind

And thus perfect the portrait’s wish?


If you remember differently to me,

Maybe things were different where you are,

And neither's neither right nor wrong.


"The yew-bough has been broken into two,

And all the birds are scattered — O! O! O!

Farewell!"*


No more to say—or that can be said—

In this eternity once more of science, and falsifiability. We may perhaps hope to scent its pattern when we're dead!



*William Butler Yeats, The Shadowy Waters (1900).

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