how do we measure 
the anatomy of a moment?

perpendicular, perhaps
or with great color,
incredulous as that may sound

take, for example, a sip of coffee
in millimeters
or a hunk of gravity
on the breakfast table
where we sit in astonishment
as the eggs grow cold

time tells us that we exist 
with radio-like precision,
but that, too, is a lie:

a nickel in the pocket
a moon with the same shoe size

—and what of the moments
we strangle with our fists?

what of the wine spilling over
like a starry-eyed nebula?

what of these parachutes
like lovesung heroes 
parading across the sky?

*Image from Freepik