A poem for Wednesday

In Ireland, I tweeted something about those moments when I put down the camera and decided to just look instead of trying to capture it. Those are the images of the trip I remember more than the ones I shot.

My head thrown back in the back seat of Dad's car as he drove. Feeling like a young girl again, looking out the window, trusting his driving, not listening to the politics on the radio, landscape flying by. The smell of moss and peat filling the car.

And in those moments, I remembered this Raymond Carver poem. And thought about the moments that make up our very best. But that we don't want or try to capture and pin and put on display.

The Poem I Didn't Write
Here is the poem I was going to write

earlier, but didn't

because I heard you stirring.

I was thinking again
about that first morning in Zurich.

How we woke up before sunrise.

Disoriented for a minute. But going
out onto the balcony that looked down

over the river, and the old part of the city.

And simply standing there, speechless.

Nude. Watching the sky lighten.

So happy and thrilled. As if

we'd been put there

just at that moment.
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