Snug

Living is, after all, better
Moment by moment by moment,
Than it looks in retrospect and
Much, much better than in prospect.

But please don’t live in the moment
Alone—it leaves you with nothing
Much to compare it to. Without
Comparisons to retrospect—

Midden of composting moments—
Or prospect—projection of hope
Into shining, flat, blank terror,
The sheer wall of nothing at all—

How would you notice your moments,
Moment by moment by moment,
Are actually, mostly, rather
Fine? Music plays. Your bed is warm.