When I forget to blink

Day 26 of 30 Days of Poetry, Autumn 2024

A sliver, a crumb,
an ounce, a speck.
The day accumulates in 
a collection of moments
in kernels of detail --
How often I count
or discount
the half breeze
puffing through 
the wind chime's
slender bells.
The dog sighs,
lifting and dropping
herself against my thigh.
What am I made of?
What should I chase?
On a September eve
I turn my head and
forget to blink:
The sun smears itself silly
for a quick sec
beyond the bridge.
Shouldn't I leave?
What's over that mystery hill?
I keep wondering,
stumbling over
beauty
grace
mercy
everywhere.