Moments are not ticks on a clock:
When we are saved from ourselves,
That is a moment
When the newborn is in your arms
Eyes shining with life, reflecting back in yours,
When love sends stubborn men, broken men,
Down to one knee
When "Yours to Hold" sings to me all the moments
She awaited my gaze, the slow-dancing to Christmas music
Even before Thanksgiving
When the flip of a coin calls our fate
And we laugh to the point of a mute joy
We are moved,
Toward names and language and desire and their majestic failures
Moments that clench and flee
The sinners gamble for grace
The musicians melody for fame
The fools breath of bravery
The crumbs and quarters jingling in tattered pockets
We can't make moments, they capture us
With temptation reveling at our innocence
We turn, as the dust and ash we are
With dirt and blood fused within our nails,
Fingertips in Heaven

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