A golden dust on eyelashes so fine
while woodmotes float in endless amity,
and feathered shards of ash begin to shine
for now, when all is right as all should be.
If only time could pause, protect and still
this momentary equilibrium;
suspended high, invincible, until
a hesitation out of nowhere comes.
Just traces now of music surfacing,
that lessening, the loosening, as sun
appears and even trees begin to sing.
Then radiance from air is somehow spun.
If energy like this could be unfurled,
these fleeting moments might restore our world.