Unaware.

In the womb, a child has no awareness
of minutes, hours, or days.
She swims through seconds as through water,
unaware of what sustains her world.
Their gathering shapes the life
she lives—has lived and will live.
She lives in time, but for the moment
time lives not within her mind.

Our feet touch the ground,
the earth holding every step.
We run and dance through the day
without thinking what keeps us here.
The scent of clean laundry, the refrigerator
humming at night, sunlight on the floor—
things that pass unnoticed through the mind,
never pausing long enough for thought.

We live within the turning of days—
yesterday’s memories and regrets,
tomorrow’s longings and quiet dreads.
The mind moves backward and forward,
gathering what was,
leaning toward what will be.
Between memory and hope
we learn the weight of passing hours.

We live as the child within the womb,
held within a great unseen sphere.
Surrounded by air as once by water,
an ocean wider than our knowing.
We breathe within an immeasurable vastness,
sustained by what we cannot see—
inhabiting eternity as quietly
as the child inhabits time.