They’re few,
so hold them close —
the final hours
still clinging to the calendar, for ours
are those short-lived bright moments
that we touch
without a hope of keeping them.
They fleet,
and yet remain,
and reappear with such
stark clarity —
it sweeps us off our feet,
when in the midst
of winter’s endless plain
we glimpse our summer,
children once again.

© 2013 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: © 2016 Nino Chakvetadze, reproduced with permission.