Is it a kind of mercy of attention

Is it a kind of mercy of attention

to only live in moments

only remember in changing parts.

What then of all the steps

I never felt.

Let me show you.

There is a place

where the stones rise up

alongside the water

next to the sprawling still rooted stump of

a sycamore tree.

I remember its long arch out and over

across from this shore to that one.

I cannot grasp the mystery

of these paths,

why it is these particular details

I am granted to notice.

In this place

the air seems thin and

somehow cooler, suddenly.

I feel it like I’ve never felt it before,

Have I?

Surely life changes, is itself change,

yet I am blessed, suddenly,

with a place to notice.

What then of all the steps

I never felt.