Pushing swings
One, two
My sons grinning and
The light falls spotty.
A lump rising in my throat
At the beauty and the swift passing
Of time, which always plunges ahead
Undisturbed by our own scrambling
Our yearning for it to slow a while
So we can breathe that flower in
Once, twice, once more.
We could rip the hands off of the clocks
All the clocks stripped bare of their ticking arms
And yet, still time would march
Undeterred
Seasons obeying, dropping leaves, dropping snow, dropping rain, throwing flowers up and out of the ground, inexorably forward.
I take my child’s face in my aging hands
I claim this moment before it hurries away
And kiss it once, twice
And once more. 
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