There are moments
fleeting, yet sticky
not like the
theater floor,
rather like
the scent of a
freshly fallen snow
that lingers on your coat
long after hiding it
away in the
closet near the door.
These moments grip, too.
Not like the vise
that holds the plank
ready to cut,
rather like
the loving toddler
fastened to
your hand
allowing the
daring crossing
of a tepid
mountain stream.
The moments are found
in solitude and silence
when the subconscious
can be explored.
And in the great
and grand with your
feet perched upon
the precipice after
you summit the
mountaintop.
The heart skips,
the senses heighten.
You soak in
the moment.
Now forever chained
to your soul,
the picture in
your mind
will pacify
your frenzied life.
As you are
escorted backward
to view again
your moment
in the sun.