going, gone
I need life to stop for just a moment. I have too much to write about, too many experiences to reflect on, yet the sun keeps rising and the coming evening is never patient. I want to cheat time just to let the crocus know I see poetry in purple, purpose in the primrose tucked behind your ear. I wanted to write a poem about the first flowers of spring, but the daffodils are gone, and the roses will be in full bloom before I find the words.
I know it’s these fleeting moments that make me want to write, I understand the necessity, but it dosn’t stop me from wanting to lock myself in one moment. To spend eternity floating in this sunset. It smells like dry grass and a beautiful woman’s perfume. There’s smoke spiraling in the distance. Sweat on my back.
Leave me be, I want to say. Let me stay. I would like passerby to see me, but to see me the same as a patch of daisies or a tree trunk with 42 rings. You know, all that quiet, clandestine, permanent stuff.
