Chasing Moments Until Moments End

On the Art of Loving What Passes

We run through fields of hours, grasping light,
each golden second slipping through our hands
like water, sand, like birds that take to flight
before we’ve learned the language they command.

The clock becomes a lover and a thief—
we chase its face across the burning day,
collecting joys as temporary, brief
as breath on glass that fades and falls away.

Yet still we reach for what we cannot hold,
this beautiful compulsion to pursue
the warmth before the universe grows cold,
the kiss, the dawn, the ordinary view.

Perhaps the chase itself is all we’re for—
to love what leaves, then rise and love once more.

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