I feel it fluttering on my prickled skin.
Butterfly wings of passing seconds, minutes—time,
touching me and then quickly moving on.
I wonder…did I truly feel it? Did it touch me and I missed it?
Where did it go this wisp of time?
How did it escape me when I most decidedly set traps for it—stretching it out for even a breath longer.
It seems I am always looking forward, or
glancing over my shoulder and dissecting what had happened and
what will happen next,
when the right here, right now is ignored, passing by in hushed silence.
I will hold them now.
I will love them now—everyone of them.
There is goes again—those butterfly wings.
I felt them once again on my prickled skin.
Alynn C. Ford