I had one of those moments the other day. I assume others have
them as well. I wasn't doing anything particularly remarkable, and
perhaps that was an element of its charm. It was simply a moment
of perfect satisfaction, lack of want. It sliced through the
hub-bubble haze and found me.
And it was so fleeting.
Just Once-Anne Sexton (1928-1974)
Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,
all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as opera singers;
counted the stars, my little campaigners,
my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love
on the night green side of it and cried
my heart to the eastbound cars and cried
my heart to the westbound cars and took
my truth across a small humped bridge
and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home
and hoarded these constants into morning
only to find them gone.