What remains, but to celebrate
The moments' passing?
All too often I have found
That event is evanescent.
It is what we talk about
With dog-eared epithets:
'We had a nice time.'
Or for hyperbolic force,
'Oh, it was Heaven.'
Will it rate a column-inch on page seven?
The sub-editing mind inquires;
How will it look on the page?
Event is comment.
Cerebration is not celebration.
I touch moments
For feeling-joy
And let them go.
Just a hand in the falls;
What tons of water
Rush through my spendthrift fingers!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem