The comma breached a pause.

Ants scattered out of their cone

Of sand and dirt in slow-mo

To grind into a frozen state.

The stream halted,

As if cut off up stream.

Our lips never came together

On that gingham picnic spread

Atop shiny grass.

The cloud stayed in place,

Blocking the high noon sun.

Our eyes deadlocked,

Then clocks spun backward.

We were children at dawn,

Kissing was gross.

Then time spun forward,

Where wrinkles and silver hair

Softened our resolve to fight.

We held hands

As the day became dusk.

Then it was dark

In our eternal bone home,

Though we continued, floating through stars

And remembering the prime days of our love,

Life at its peak,

Or so we thought at the time.

Yet now the galaxies

Welcome our body-freed minds.

Curiosity our new purpose,

Smiling at each other,

Holding hands once again in spirit

And making air kisses.

Gods of our own destiny.

Children of contented hope.