Any time there is a window, or a winter, or a news

report strung out to minute-by-minute;

Any time there is a letter, a philosopher, a question of

travel through time or Wien; any time there's a claim

we can learn to stretch our minds across the greys of this precise universe

which itself slouches in an infinite series

of likewise or elsewise universes;

Any time someone reaches down to pick up a copy

of the New Yorker, and it is March 2008, and this

gesture changes their whole-life-plan because of a poem

by W.S. Merwin which says (among other things) that all flowers are a form of water

and the whole world's burning;

Whenever our hands touch like swords

and we bow, either because we want

to obey the rules of combat

or because it might help to save our necks;

Whenever the blue hour;

Whenever fathers wait for children

to arrive on a plane

when even the 24 hour news cycle

has had to admit the story is over

with the wreck fished out

and no survivors;

Whenever I promise but send you nothing

what I am failing to say

is that some of the moments we cling to most

are the futures we never let happen.