before time passed in lurching regularity

or colors were taped to their objects,

way back when stars were candles

and death was an optional thing.

I caught the wind.

the sent of blue sky just after lighting still comes to mind

the cat's breath breeze ghosting over my skin.

I, a child who thinks he has ensnared an insect,

the wind in my cupped hand,

peering eagerly to see-

I found it had flown.

and still, i look

even now, years later when color is flat and time is rough.

I follow the wind into full sails and on top of tall sea cliffs.

I keep my hands open because someday- I'll catch it