Sunlit

Sunlit

Published by Josie Daleiden at
Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Josie
Daleiden

***

Dappled sun spills through a crocheted
blanket.

Senses dull to the barrage of pleasure,
but memories capture the gist.

We all live in the moment, but to live
in a moment is not to absorb it.

Old wise ones ponder all, but relish in
their past exploits in pure form.

For all their memories cling to them
like smoke from a campfire.

As the dappled sun spills on the
grey-haired soul who visits his glory days,

Two lovers press against the fragrant
green grass under a flimsy shield of woven yarn.

As a young woman's hair spills across
her admiring partner, she feels tethered and weighted.

This anchoring is not an
unwelcome limitation, but a means to retain an instance with
so
much
.

So
much
gravity.

So
much
sensory input.

So
much
love.

That to not be held, or held onto,
would mean to drift away from this moment.

To not be able to capture it within
their loving embrace, hidden by their crocheted
colander.

As two lovers’ hearts race in a
competition only they can understand, they are one.

We do not live in these
moments.
They
do
not live in these moments either.

They are gone before we know what to
make of them.

We can only hope to catch them and
store them.

When our lives slow,

And our bodies descend incrementally in
a slow spiral to the Earth's cool soil.

We reflect on these memories like the
sunlight reflects off of a park fountain.

Our cold hearts warm at the times past
when we were all unafraid.

Before life kicks us in our tender
underbelly, she gives us small morsels of pleasure.

This delicate nutrition is ours to
keep. But we must not taint its sweet, fragrant
sustenance.

We need not poison the pure moments
past in our life with the dirty vessels that we now drink
from.

Instead, we should drink these
recollections from the source, from the times in our past
glory.

As two lovers make memories and cross
new lines in mutual exploration,

An old man chuckles to himself on a
nearby bench.

He remembers his own age of nubile
invincibility.

His own exploits as a young man brought
back to the surface of his mind's deep water.

Stirred as if by a hand in a still
pond, his own senses trigger upon the thoughts of the
past.

As he once played as a young explorer
under a thin blanket in a daylit park.