Reflection

We rise, we coffee, begin the routine, 

pricked with flashes, typically, 

of the recent past. 

There is a filter, that eliminates 

the mundane, from the priceless -

which become the cornerstones. 

These moments, the poignant ones 

steel an emotion, free an event from 

extraneous clutter,

brand themselves in the cerebellum.

We are these memories.

The eight-hour-thing over, 

insomnia kicks in, the curse 

starts the definer-reel rolling. 

The worst and the best

flare through the consciousness, 

like a closet docudrama, 

and then we dream. 

The present, the in-the-moment 

is void of context 

without these pure, momentary events. 

These are life, become soul.

We are fragile, mortal. 

One breath, the next, and then none. 

Mortality haunts, makes it unique, 

the moments are mine, terminal.

Mutual, shared memories become history. 

I cherish these moments, 

but they will leave when I do, 

unless I write them down.

---

Craig Kirchner is retired and living in Jacksonville. He loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. Craig's writing has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, 7^th-Circle Pyrite, The Modern Artist and dozens and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig can be found on Bluesky.