I enjoy photography,
specifically
the way it captures time.
A fragment of a moment
distilled into forever.
It can be recreated,
but never be exactly the same.
A second, a decade.
All in a frame.
Do you remember that day?
When you look at the photo?
How it felt.
How it’s changed.
Does it bring you melancholy?
Regret?
Does it bring you joy?
Love?
So simple and so small
are these pieces.
A memory on display.
So peaceful is the outer world
from the panes of my window.
Something I may have missed
had my mind not woken me
at that peculiar midnight hour.
All the footsteps have been silenced.
A cool sheen of white is
unassumingly comforting
in the cold.
The jagged branches of the juniper
have become round in banks of snow.
The moonlight glistens on the surface
and the night is brighter than imagined.
Where does time go?
Is it behind us,
chained to the past?
Each second fleeting,
gone before it’s realized.
Is it in front of us?
Each moment an anticipation.
So many think about tomorrow
before finishing today.
Time is so easily wasted,
yet so highly valued.
No one can control it
and it can’t be saved.
Thought we feel it moving at different paces,
all of it is equally weighted.
Hello, New Year.
Hello, New Self.
Will I ever get used to you?
This unfortunate version of me?
I have lost the sense of urgency.
Time is a spectrum that follows
only light and darkness.
Days pass insignificantly.
I can only complete tasks
in sections or
not at all.
All I do is read endlessly
on my phone.
Fearing the worst
with every scroll.
Oh, Google,
what is wrong with me
now?
Self-diagnosis pity mission,
that is truly never finished.
I dream of my past self
and chastise her for not
realizing
how good it was.
How bad it will be.
Sometimes,
I want to erase it all
and go backwards.
So many times.
I am not lazy.
But, god, do I wish I could be.
What you actually see
is hesitation with a compounding fear.
Will I find you again,
old self?
I hope so.
I need you.
In the crispness
of a cold Winter’s night,
you came with fury,
hurling screams with might.
Skin pink and swollen.
Eyes mystified by the new.
The things you had known,
have gone askew.
What do you think
of this strange world
that’s been thrust upon you?
Our little magical girl.
The light in the room
took on a blue hue,
softening all the hard edges.
A short walk,
just to watch your happy face.
Tail up high and wagging hard,
moving at a prancer’s pace.
Everything distracts you,
focus was never a strength.
What smells so interesting?
Grass clings to your teeth.
We play a little game
when you bring me the rope.
I always let you win
just so you don’t mope.
I love to watch you nap,
a coiled ball of paws and fur.
Even your dreams keep you active.
I swear, sometimes you purr.
After dinner cuddles,
our favorite thing to do.
Your slow breath on my chest
fills all of my heart’s room.
It’s funny how different
this path feels
when I’m walking
instead of running.
How the hills aren’t as difficult
but the downhill
is not as rewarding
and I still make it to the top.
It’s surprisingly hot
for a late September day.
But if the wind keeps building
cold air will arrive soon.
There are some flowers that bloomed late.
Purple hues dot the trail’s edges,
while yellow, brown,
and that distinct, dry crinkle sound takes over.
I don’t know you yet
but I do know your kicks and punches,
what I assume are happy movements
punctuated by long slumber.
Enjoy your cozy time,
free of gravity and consequence.
We’ll see you soon.
I miss the smell
of a rainstorm coming.
It’s dark grey edge
absorbing the sun light
at the top of the trees.
The way the forest
grows quiet
knowing
the rush that’s to come.
I miss the strange delusion
that would overcome me
after miles with no other soul.
How deep my thoughts
would start to grow.
The way silence
could be found
in the busiest part
of my mind.
zeven writes 