A doctor once told me,
To completely forget the past:
Live only in the present,
There's only the present, he said,
Then, it was present, now, it is past.
The present now's empty,
The present is past,
The future is new, now,
All of them are,
Together mixed now:
Past while I'm sleeping,
Presents and 'could bes,'
Then, a third time, the 'could have been.'
Even the chilly cold air,
The clear sound in the train
Of the crowdest London station,
Is now part of my past...
Bishop's poems, Chaucer's readings, Christie's novels,
All remain quiet there, in the past, alive, alone,
And together, their sounds and greens.
The quick hurry ups and runs on my mind,
The coffee, the stress and the rain,
All in the past, all together,
The plane and I, coming back.
This island, the airport, the airports on my mind,
Passengers we were, and I returned,
To see the same again,
Again, another present, another past, a future-time...