On the Mortality of the Moment



The shutter clicks,

And a photograph is born,

But what of the moment?

It is not quite over yet,

But, then again, it’s ending soon,

And though you just immortalized it

With your clever camera,

Some deeper, more primal part of you can’t help but feel

That you missed it entirely,

That while you were busy remembering the rule of thirds

And telling everyone to smile,

You were too far removed by the separation

Of the church of the camera and the state of the mind

To be fully present in the moment,

The one that is now lost;

The one your children will find buried in a shoebox

In the closet behind the door;

The one that you let flare and float away,

So consumed by your fear of missing it

That the moment, that shining, long-lost moment,

Ended up fluttering away on some wayward breeze,

Having missed the people it came from above to see.