Anti-Heraclitus

Without traversing past

the moments lived

or otherwise

where am I to find

the same river

to step in twice?

Crossing many bridges

arching over memories

that do not exist

where am I to find

the one moment

where I'm stuck still?

A lake, a pond, a puddle

within Heraclitus's river,

I am antithesis to none

other than myself

Living in both,

the past flown past

and the future not yet

all the while 

as the present drifts away 

unlived yet again.