For OJ and promises

I have had time
and the sun has cut
a small line.

Today I am not
immortal nor
am I distracted
by its loss

Only wistful
perhaps chaotic
surely mesmerized
and kidnapped

by words and
hands that briefly
remind me that I
continue

It is no more
astounding than
melancholy music
and short breaths

Knowing that
in some hearts there
are still a few tears
that are for
nothing other than
the memory of the
brief and wonderful.