Is it the coffee or the rushing river?
What I am,
passes me in a race down stream,
a pace with no spaces, no time to think
The momentary molecule bursts over my head
Tears of wonder
There is nothing to hold onto.
Chloe cut her foot last night
and needed stitches to keep her toe.
My mother died from a similar injury.
And just last week,
we put her ashes into the gulf stream.
A quick trip around the world.
We can’t hold the moment or each other for very long
The unwilling hand opens
to rest upon the heart
While the opposite hand reached upward