Stopping time

Sometimes it happens, probably more often than we
think.
When we feel, that's more to the point.
I've watched it, compassion, companionship,
care and more,
coursing out, because the want of it
wells out, and there's no stopping it.

I'm not sure about time. We invented it
some cycles ago. It's a sure measure, yes,
but bodies say something else.

It's odd that a lightning touch
torches everything it strikes,
firing every surface it feels,
in it's fierce finding of
ourselves.

Some time ago we knew what might have been,
and in those moments we thought of
love.

That word turns into
windswept ways, seething in the
Cape southwester,
curling into growing waves that
crash against a daring walk along
the breaking water.

When you stop time,
you know more,
and the ocean agrees,
arguing aimlessly as it moves
incessantly.