A German, Jens, once told me,
Bavarian through and through,
Of an Artist friend of his
Who’d made it in the news

For simply walking forward
Straight across the street,
Never even looking down
Six stories past his feet.

I rendered humble homage
Unto his lofty deed 
But had to add I saw it as
A thing of little need:

Who bid him gap that chasm?
Who made him leave his home
To reach a side indifferent from 
The one he just had known?

And briefly Jens was silent,
Then laughing, offered: it
Was to test his theory of
“The temporal correlate.”

I duly asked the question,
And this Jens answered me:
“To slip, misstep, at least right now,
He couldn’t possibly.

Since ‘past’ goes ever backward,
And ‘future’ ever fore,
‘Present’ must suspended be 
Thus tautly at the door

Between these two behemoths,
Eternal heavyweights,
Pressing ‘present’ steadily 
Afore-ward at the pace

Of timeless tightrope walkers,
Force equal on each side,
With perfect poise positioned feet,
Which safely forward glide.”