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fleeting
my hands are out
palms up
desperately holding on
to a gift
which i fear will
not last long.
i grasp for it,
but it slips
through my fingers.
i am helpless
as it leaves.
it's beauty is
leaving behind sorrow.
all i can do,
to my horror,
is watch
as it fades,
leaving behind nothing more than
a memory,
and the pain
that follows.
i know
the pain will also
be fleeting,
as everything in this world is,
but that fact
does little to lessen the size
of the hole
within.
e.e.k
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the image of cupped hands holding water, and "But In the Night" by Nelly Sachs.