On Perfect Moments

It’s tough then, not
feeling beatific, when
the sun obsesses on
its morning haze and
eternity sports a goatee.
The day plays bongos,
and even sea birds

rest from the waves. Then,
“frankly” can’t explain
how frankly transcendence
(satori, what-have-you)
has caught the breeze.

That’s when the future
does more than ask, “What
next?” and even busses
run on time. That’s when
this the world of loss and
love lives up for once
to promises the poets

have heard. That’s when
for once time and tide collude
(as always we knew they could)
on nothing else but splendor.


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