"When?" is the death of "now"--
impossible as it is to satiate the mind's compulsion to control infinite mystery.
My heart sings the moment--it is time to dance.
Dance, my breath!
Dance, my voice!
Dance, my life!
Dance, my soul!
Dance, my shadow!
Dance, my sickness!
Dance, my weakness!
Dance, my woe!
I prefer this beat so wild and everywhere to the chiming of the tallest belfry.
Only the ocean knows such frolicking inward toward infinity.
"When" is water on the wings of the albatross.
It turns turtles on their backs and sends sunflowers away from their namesake.
"When" can be too soon and too late--and always not enough.
But "now" is the mother of "when"--and before long she will be "always."