There it is, that moment in time,
An instant too brief, like the blink of an eye.

A sound so subtle, a whispered breath,
Brushed on my cheek, like a petal’s touch.

Turning to see what is not there,
I catch the scent of tussled hair.

And a warmth, not sunlight,
Not breath, not much

But the flow of our hearts, our lives, our essence
Folded into the space between us, in senescence.

© 2014 D. Edward Croy