A Moment in Texture

 

A Moment in Texture

 

The texture of the moment

Lost in the sweep of hours.

To exist within a time

That cannot be held,

But is relinquished

To mere memory

And the regret of inevitability.

Another dumpy specimen

Swimming upstream against the regimen,

I watch the moment

Rushing to remembrance,

And settles with the impermanence of life

Subject to recall without notice.

 

And the world went on without me.

 

Another day and

More facts to rearrange,

Doesn’t it all seem a little strange,

This sticky web;

This life we’re anchored of…

All that input

for the same old output,

Nudging existence onward,

Until we exist no longer,

And our trace is washed away,

At the end of the day

It was just another day,

And we made it after all.

 

And the world goes on around us.

 

Sometimes the shadows pass my door,

A pale parade in pantomime,

A partial pageant painted.

Ghosts in daylight,

Lost to the night.

Noiseless in their passage,

They disappear with the sunset,

Taking nothing with them.

Sometimes I exist with them,

Sometimes not at all.

 

And the world goes on without me.

 

The texture of the moment,

Held in the senses,

Then lost to time,

Remembered in scent or sight,

Yet still passed.

What a fleeting grip is ours.

Shadows grasping for permanence,

Lost always to time.

In this moment

We too are texture,

Unenduring as we are.

All will pass

As all must,

As all moments do.

 

The world goes on.

 

Cliff Lake 9/26/2026

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026