Moments are touched only once,
held in our hands like a water droplet
under the July sun-
then quickly depart to join the clouds
far beyond our reach.
In such a fleeting world
sometimes it may seem as though
we sculpt our lives in sand.
Meaning is difficult to see
through the fog of futility.
Yet we carry on knowing blooming flowers wilt,
but their scent lingers among our memories
until a new spring comes.