A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

MOMENTS

Moments,
Like snowflakes
Enclosed in the hand,
Drift
Across my mind . . .

BREATH OF HEAVEN

How gently we are born 
Upon the wind of change,
That mighty storm
Reaching us as barely a whisper,
How softly we are carried
From moment to moment
With scarcely a hair to rearrange.