Moving Parts.

If days turned
as pages do,
perhaps I could find
a lesson
in each fleeting,
flaming moment.

This life is flying
and whipping,
like an eager bird
staggering
in the tumult.

I want to beg
for a time to
lay flat,
a time to tempt
all of the deepest things
to curl quietly
over me,
a time to taste
our air
and smell this
skin
of mine.

This is just
what I am granted,
though:
time, time,
days and moments,
air and flesh.
And it shouldn't
be quite so
tricky
to use my
hands to try,
try and catch this
life-
just some
delighted child
chasing after
magical,
moving parts.