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That afternoon there were moments
Time outs from speaking, breathing
All that surfaced was a ticking
A tocking like a heartbeat
Thump, thump, thump
Like a metronome keeping pace
And we submitted to it
for what else was there
There was no DVD
there was no DVR
There was only us and him
and thoughts and prayers floating
He once again suspended future
and past and invited present
Oh what a gift it was
like eating breakfast on the beach
after a long arduous night
and light came softly
and spilled on us
through that window of
real time
For Dan Webb in the loss of his son.
Gerald the Writer 
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