Who hasn’t wanted to stop time for just a second?
Something fleeting — a moment, pure and simple.
The peak of life should be something we could wrap up and keep safe.
Everything passes — and most of the time, that’s a good thing.
But sometimes, it’s heartbreaking.
Not everything should slip away.
Some moments are so rare,
they feel heavy in your hands, like you could actually catch time.
But you can’t.
It always slips through — and like I said, everything passes.
A tiny fragment of time.
From Latin momentum, meaning the power to move, to shift.
And it’s that weight packed into small, passing moments
that keeps us moving forward.
Everyone has a moment they’d live in, if only they could.

On a warm summer night,
I glanced through my rearview mirror,
the city that broke me
now bathed in light.
Lightning stitched silver threads
along the crowns of distant mountains,
touching only the heights
as if heaven refused to descend.

I carried silence beside me,
sorrow unsaid,
grief unnamed.
This city, so swift with its vengeance,
gave me nothing but closed doors
and hollow days.

Still, I remember—
not the struggle,
but the way Albuquerque shimmered
in that final glance,
beautiful in retreat,
like something holy I could never hold.

Today I am wearing
One of my father's neckties.
I know it might be a red herring
But it reminds me of him, so I look past all those lies.

It is a pink one,
With silver diamonds scattered.
I think it's rather fashionable
So, caring about others’ hasn't mattered.

I don it with a navy jacket
Just like the ‘ol days: suit & tie.
I’m not here to make a racket
About it, but just to state a point, I cry!

I am a femme fatale
Not a butch,
Rose-gold sneakers attire
Or coloured-heels as such.

It always gets a comment,
Sometimes a whistle or two.
I never thought I was attractive
But these feels, while I’m wearing it, surely do ensue.

the colors were still bright
and i could hear the sun
and draw my deepest thoughts with chalk
i didn't want for anyone
hop-scotch on the driveway
chasing runaway ***** down the hill
hide-and-seek 'til we got called in for lunch
then right back outside to chase a thrill
the most i feared
in my younger years
was being kissed by bumble bees
mixing potions with the berries
we picked from climbing trees
if we missed a knot and skipped a step
a cartooned bandaid would pay our debt
or a push-pop from the freeze
we were reckless with our hearts
and our minds got off with ease
the worst of it
that we might get
was strawberries on our knees

I won't be here to hear them reminisce
On the way he would purse his lips,
Or ask for a sucker and a grandson's kiss.

                   we dropped them off at school
                    gave them treats and broke the rules
                    we were cheering, clapping, beaming
                    we're with you when you're young
                    we helped teach you right from wrong

They'll laugh at my raisins,
And frozen cheesesticks,
The fruity yogurt,
My silly magic tricks.
They'll talk for years about our Sunday morns,
The BLTC's ... and... little storms... and
Then they'll mourn.

                        we picked you up on rainy days,
                          you'd have sleep-overs and movie galas,
                          we took you to concerts, plays and games,
                          to swimming pools on sun splashed days,
                          and gladly do it next year again

One would shyly ask for a cookie,
A digestive or an Oreo,
One would ask for licorice,
Or a fugesickle with a spoon and dish.
And one, a grandson or daughter,
Would meekly ask for a straw and water.

                            you see us whisper with Mom & Dad,
                             and wonder if it's good or bad,
                             but we confirmed sizes and bikes
                             and arrangements for an overnight

In days to come you'll reminisce
On all the things we'll surely miss.

No night is longer
                     Or shorter
No day Narrower
                     Or wider
No interval between
                     Then and now
Your'e a constant
Within thought
Within experience of unconditional love

remember
the days spent under the sun
nestled between the boughs of the oaks
disturbing the woods
with our cries of joy?
you'd brandish a stick
call it a sword
and we'd dance our dance
to the tune of competition.
we'd skip to the creek
I'd tell you not to sit on the log
that rested precariously on the banks.
you'd laugh
and to show off you'd make me worry.
we'd skip stones,
flat ones,
pretty ones,
that I'd stow away in my pockets,
until mother made us throw them away.
dusk and dawn we'd live in the woods,
a pair of ragtag kids with nothing to do

But is dying merely a rebirth within the echoes
Of another's memory, in another's mind
Forever lingering in another’s heart –
Being this forever last touch?

Death, is far from silent, loudly resonating
Within the echoing tears of the living,
Not so cold; those cherished memories
Of you, ignites smiles that envelop us in warmth.

Though, as much as we know you now
We realize we never truly knew you at all!
Even in death, the narrative of your once
Existence, is living in another’s memories –
As a depth far beyond what we could even hold.

I was five hours through my trip of eight
When I saw through bug guts light tearing cloud
I was thinking about clips sent my way
Of her play with the offspring of her own

Laughing without regard for somber weight
Which hung on us like a funeral shroud
Her spirit was ready were it the day
She was prepared if then she would have flown

But how it closed with a coffin lid’s freight
What tears under such sorrow we allowed
In front of his daughter dying he lay
Soon enough I’d have his pictures alone

In the light I saw insects smashed to death
“Three hours left” I said under my breath