There is no art without time.
Most art is appreciated in discrete chunks of time; a sunset, a cat’s meow, a lover’s smile, a perfect chord progression;
An oil painting hanging in a museum, a play, a famous film, a piece of music, a poem recited in sonorous tones, a perfect meal, incandescent sex; part of the beauty is that art ends, eventually.
Is there any art that avoids time? Transcends moments? Of course you can stare at the moon slowly sinking over the ocean for hours, but that isn’t the same.
Every breath is a moment, every breath is a poem. And then they end.
Every breath is a poem. Every breath is a moment. And then they stop.