moments come and pass,
i stop to think about them,
they’re moments of fondness,
nostalgia creates a memory
i dwell, 'not', upon the memory
for then i cease creating present
moments and my heart beats 'not'
of life but in the cessation of it
i look down and feel the grass
between my toes, i smell the lavender
nearby, my eyes are given pleasure
from the lily, the jonquil, the iris,
cardinals whistle for each other,
blue-jays and black birds caw,
the robins have taken nesting
for the warm has come north
as i breathe this moment, though,
as my heart flutters at this piece of life
the beating heart is fragile, feeling
anguish by the loss of souls too young
taken by angry voices, ugly hands
