Moments only ever come

one at a time.

There’s no point in rushing through

because rushing only muffles

the ordinary and orchestral sounds

of the zipping of jackets and the clinking of spoons in cereal bowls.


Rushing robs us of hand-holding and joke-telling

and dream-remembering.

Holy Moments are often mistaken for inconveniences

while we’re trying to get

the important work done.


But if the name of God is in

the sound of our breathing,

then I never want to be short of breath.

And if our days are numbered,

there is enough time. 



October streets sigh

as summer gives way to Autumn.

One by one

trees reluctantly release their leaves

into the waiting hands of the wind. 


Red and orange

so spectacular that we forget

these are the colors of dying.

It’s as if summer is throwing her own funeral celebration

before she says goodbye. 


Sandals are moved

to the dark corners of closets

with warm memories still attached.

It’s time for the world to fall apart

and then begin again.

Leslie Jordan