Clean slates always please
the man who can’t remember
what it’s like to see his reflection
in polished silver — a lifetime
caught in a single image.
Now lighter do I feel
after my little respite;
how long until none can tell
I’ve fasted? Until I can’t tell?
An hour, a day, a week, …
it doesn’t matter… that’s the name
of the game; it’s a process.
Toughened minds let loose for a while
only to find themselves caught up
in a whirlwind of recollection
upon recomposition. Must it be so?
Titled moments captured in the sneering
gazes of passersby not worth a second
glance; but look anyway…
disappointment and confusion…
and the clutter — empty heads
stuffed full of it.
So we break, we wait, we compose…
my moment is unique,
but we’re all familiar
with the magic of a moment.
A pause. A gift.