Friday, August 8, 2014

The Perfection of Moments

A man – young and old at once
walks side by side with his wee girl
she coming barely to his knees
raindrops on the grass sparkling their walk
she stops to park herself along the low rail
of the fence and the companionableness
of them is something you want to reach
out and touch with your hand, holding back
lest you burst the bubble of a moment of a memory

father and child lie side by side on the couch
she with that sprawl of innocence the young
carry with them in to their sleep making our
hearts break with the sheer goodness of them
the smell and the shape and the touch and the
breath of them taking our breath, our shape,
our touch in their wake and making us and
our problems petty and small in the presence
of such a big thing in such a small package –

and he, well he just lays there still in his love
present in the moment of the grace of her
and I know it will not last but in this moment
she . . . he . . . they . . . are perfect and to behold
this . . . this beauty . . . this perfect moment
is to be blessed beyond measure and maybe it’s
okay that it will not last and yet tears crowd
my eyes for I know that it is not okay 
may yet still be but it is not and why is this
perfect perfection not hers forever?  I so
want to know

and I in inner dialogue chastize self for its
insistence on seeing the perfection, the beauty,
knowing and well knowing all the else that 
lies around it like the detritus of what could have been

but why should I not see thus?  for is this not how 
God sees?  is this not how God knows?  
what is can be – we know this and yet fail
fail to cling 
fail to believe
and in our failing
the possibilities that perfect moment presents
fail to imagine what it – life – this – could be
so easily forgetting how it is
in the moments
the perfect moments

and there live my tears
in our forgetting
of what God sees
and sees through

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