Could it be as simple as the passing of time?
If we abandon the nebulous, are we not committed singularly to passing time? Watching?
Being watched? Watching things pass their time, our time passing too.
Like those cows in that field, sun on their backs, those trees in that field too,
Those birds in their branches. Those people over there on the other side, standing
In groups looking at things, looking at looking at things,
Looking at me as I look, while I too look at looking at things
We all here under the slow-circling sun, no inward implication cast between the incremental judders of its shadow hands,
Standing in a circle looking in at time in the centre,
Time as our commonality, tied together as we are tied to time, distant but present,
As we watch lives, ours and each other’s happen themselves to a close.
Constant Voice 