before time passed in lurching regularity
or colors were taped to there objects,
way back when stars were candles
and death was an optional thing.
i caught the wind.
the sent of blue sky just after lighting still comes to mind
the cats breath breeze ghosting over my skin.
i, a child who thinks he has ensnared an insect,
the wind in my cupped hand ,
peering eagerly to see-
i found it had flown.
and still i look
even now, years later when color is flat and time is rough.
i follow the wind into full sails and on top of tall sea cliffs.
i keep my hands open, because someday-
i’ll catch it