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(for Derrida)
What can I give you beyond the present
Except a handful of nothings,
Something that is not even hinted at
Or called for
Like fair play or justice,
In the most intimate moment
Of our friendship
Time passes into oblivion
And we must quickly forget the present
To enter the future,
For we only interact with the present
In a land without space
Scarcely and dimly,
With the future licking its skin,
Abrasively and intensely,
We remember our beings
As a gift of time
Holding our breath
As death holds life
Not evil but ethical,
We are made honest
Only in moments
When we feel vulnerable,
When we are ready to die for a cause,
Or an epistemological belief,
We enter the souls of texts,
Structures and institutions,
Grappling with being and sameness
Fantasizing the divisions of time,
Hoping for a deus ex machina,
But when our life exceeds self-interest,
When the truth of living
Becomes death without return,
In that moment
There is a gift without condition. |