A Moment Grasped and Gone
It’s like you’re in a speeding car
trying to spot mushrooms lurking
between asphalt and woods
as they rush from sight behind.
It’s like that but it’s not.
You’re not in a car hunting mushrooms.
You’re in a hammock in a
lush and hushed back yard
on a soft July eve.
What you’re sensing is time
dissolving while you try in vain
to freeze its flow,
wishing you could race
backwards on the spinning world
to grasp one more minute of sunset.
What you’re knowing is this time,
this soft quiet green moment,
is only a moment.
Days will inch shorter, forcing
a search for peace in other moments
that have more color, less heat, more edge.
Editor’s Note: This poem describes the indescribable with metaphor and imagery, because some things can’t really be spoken, only felt.