-The moment stands still.
Or, I want it to.
I take a picture, figuratively, of course,
but when I open my eyes, the moment is gone.
I cannot clearly distinguish the one from the next
they blend into the other; the way the wind bends
the dancing branches in each moment, the birds
shifting their positions against the sky, shadows
scattering and being drawn back together.
I sketch it, a moment; the shade as it stands
to one side, before it diminishes; the leaves
on branches, as they stand against the sun;
the birds, as they spread their wings
against the soft breeze; but when I am done,
the moment has been swept away.
I fill my lungs, searching for the breeze,
the moment frozen in a scent,
but they, too, blend; a potpourri
of the many breaths I’ve taken
and relinquished, to the cascade
of particles, colliding and rearranging
as each moment shifts into the next;