Passing

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