I arrive at a place of great beauty
I wish to capture it, to keep it
I draw a picture of this place

I observe a sweet child
I wish always to have her cherubic face to view
I photograph her

I am transported by emotion
I want to remember this moment forever
I write a poem

I accumulate some money and goods
I want to know their value
I put it all in numbers so I can perceive my wealth

Yet the pictures, the words, the numbers
Are not enough
They are not the things they represent

I cannot recreate and keep the beauty I’ve seen
I cannot capture and keep the sweet smile of the child
I cannot regenerate the emotion I wrote of
The numbers representing my wealth fail to satisfy

Why, then, do I persist
In drawing,
In photographing,
In writing,
In numbering?

This is grasping, clinging
To a ghost of a moment…