The Drifting of Moments...a Sonnet

 

The quiet will of moments has its way

The sojourner within its subtle clasp

Endures its offerings of gold and gray

As restless threads slip through our fumbling grasp

Darling, the wind tonight is blue and brusque

It rakes its talons ‘cross the frigid pond

Obliterating the moonbeam on its cusp

Pushing to an intangible beyond

Where summer’s past and future intertwine

As surreal dreams and echoes coalesce

Its boasts of air are neither thine nor mine

We reach in vain for illusion’s caress

While we surrender to the startling touch

Of ticking clocks, of falling flowers and such

The portend of a moment soon is null

Bleeding un-severed, joy and grief’s context

Corralled into a day; when it is full

It scales a phantom gate into the next

Darling, the hour does not reimburse

Its squandered breadth, nor is a glimpse unveiled

Of Time’s extent; this dust-spun universe

Cannot fathom eternity exhaled

Where moments in ethereal magnitude

Will never be; no hour, day or year

Earth’s numbered measure will our thought elude

As we pass from this noon-to-midnight sphere

Across the field the skyline silhouette

Yields to a little season’s pirouette

The bridegroom hungers for his precious bride

But he cannot pluck moments from Time’s clutch

Nor can a mother quell their ceaseless tide

As children scatter from beneath her touch

Darling, the air is charged with sweet suspense

For who can know what loiters in the mist

Of opportunity and recompense

We are young lovers waiting to be kissed

As we, God’s floods of wonderment embrace

Of sunbeam smiling soft against the cheek

Or heaven’s tears in metaphors of grace

Fill us with awe until we cannot speak

Outside a snowflake wafts then disappears

Like moments drifting softly into years

© Janet Martin