Fibers of time bind each moment.
Strands tied end to end, girdle and embrace
fleeing days as they abscond.
They flash past the window,
caught naked in a glimpse from the eye’s corner.
Or adorned by the graze of an unbidden touch in the back’s hollow,
they utter with unspoken candor of affection rendered.
This the “moment of truth.”
Not the eyeshot down a gun barrel by a god player.
The crest of an instant
is where awe and wonder clothe unguarded affinity.