The details slip, how blue the sky, how white
the foam, how high the waves rode in the sea,
rough or tranquil – and its exact degree.
The sharpness of the moment and its insight.
The image slips, whole edges blur with age,
some colours rub off, some fade’s added in,
things once intense and profound slowly thin,
covers wear, silverfish damage the page.
The hours slip, while I panic and clutch
at that elusive word, picturesque phrase
must nail it down, stick it in, or the haze
will take it all beyond reach, beyond touch.
And yet it slips, fast and slow, part by partnothing is safe in the brain or the heart.
Have I told you about the final year-end challenge over at Write...Edit...Publish...? Sign up's today, post on or before 21st. Off to start on my piece. Join in for an interesting, imaginative prompt and of course the gorgeous badges...