The Moment

Finding the voice
Never it comes
One looks so hard
It's like chasing the sun.

To the holiday
We cling
Desperate to remember
Each moment
Each thing.

We record, we write
we tell those we love
of sheer delight

hoping, praying
they remember
what we will forget
the green of Maui
the Alps in Spring
Not rendered in image
our deepest regret.

We hope like the hapless
we remember it all,
yet the greatest moments of life
collapse like the Fall;

leaves turning crimson
the future beckons,
alas we follow,
"slaves", we reckon.

And so, we look back
at a past much better
than what really did pass.

We see our youth,
sublime in our midst,
as we fear the present
for what the future insists.

Yet our holiday was but
the present in which,
we took for granted,
that moment; that niche.

We reached for the camera,
the pen, the phone,
not taking in the nuance,
the subtle silence,
the majesty of
the moment,
perched exquisitely
on her throne.