Wren
Summer. The wren in the young willow
Swivels with the speed of a missed tag
In a back yard game of chase. What I am
Chasing I’m glad to miss. What I hold
On to is the untouchable joy of losing
A race to my daughter. The air after
Rain. It’s late spring, early June, and
You cannot convince children
out of school that it’s not summer.
Translations from the English 
Wren, as the observer and the observed, reflects the fleeting permanence of the moment – a memory that can alight at random times as a reminder of that precious moment.