There must be a way to hold on to it...
it was there briefly, shining brightly
or at least I thought so
then it was gone,
covered by a ton of matter.
last Tuesday it was here
insubstantial and fragile
much like delicate butterfly wings
floating on a summer breeze
perched above me for a split second.
Then there was that time last year
when I sat perfectly still
like a lake with no ripples
hoping for it to find me
it passed by without even a glance
I tried digging in the mud
like hunting for buried treasure
scooping piles of dirt over my shoulder
finding only rocks and stones
and a rubber boot left there last spring
It’s not like I can’t live without it
but a small sliver of it would be nice
to hold in my hand
and wrap myself in at night
just to hear it whisper my name to the moon.