The present is yet more distant than the past or future; the world lies between here and the world. The task is to reach through the world, to the world, and bring something of the present moment forward, nearer to us.
But unlike past and future, the distant present is nascent, not known, un-full-formed. We do not know the moment wherein we feel the wire in the rose; the act of the bringing-forward of that moment, through the world, to us, brings through, also, in that tearing, alongside that towards which we reach, also these incomprehensible fragments from Platonia, soiled with their amber of beauty and fear — such love, the stain of the gold of which darkens in all our hearts.