This Moment

My art of remembrance declines
until all I can summon
is this moment:
the thirty-seventh heartbeat
of the fourteenth minute
of the sixteenth hour of the day.

Afternoon silence rolls
through the trees.
Somewhere, I assume,
a child is laughing,
and somewhere else a child
cries out in pain.

This moment is the
end result of everything
I cannot now remember,
and the culmination of every word
that has bloomed within my mind.