52 moments | one

[simply]

It is a kind of familiar, friendly pain,
this stretching of unlimber muscles.
Mind reaches into memory and beyond it
into words, straining after significance.

I breathe heavy, bearing the weight of moments,
shifting them from hand to hand.
I balance images:
one, a laughing boy pressed nose to window;
two, thoughtless words like footprints
trampled without care over someone's heart
(from hindsight, they resemble regrets);
three, a fuschia, feathered sky.

I juggle them from mind to memory
and fumble for a unity to bind them/
bear their weight.
No matter; life is its own poem.