I race to catch the golden hour
as if I were catching a life-saving ride,
escaping disaster, fire or flood;
I’m trying to catch time
by the second.
As the light moves thru the leaves
and shadows cross stillness,
I think I can see it, oh, so briefly.
Quick, there’s one,
catch it before it races away,
laughing at mortal me,
using mirrors in a fancy case
to try to catch joy.
Copyright 2015 Susan Merrifield Desrocher