click the arrow above to listen to this poem.

The thread glinted,
caught in the light
and then gone
The strand, silky and ephemeral.
As mysterious
as the cardinal’s call.
Framing this moment,
there is a tear
edging from my eye –
holding on,
glistening, not ready to fall;
as temporary as that web,
lost in the sunshine.
It is all passing
in the prevailing seconds,
marching to another edge –
a threshold to the next.
No return, just passing.
These are the moments,
Not to be held,
Only experienced.
Do we see them?

From Traveler: A Poetic Journey
©Cross Stone Press and Phillip Berry 2021

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