Like some immense Steve Rogers and exist
Forever in one moment. To throw dice
And never have them land; the morning mist
Still lingering, unburnt by coming day;
The puff of air exhaled before my face
Not yet dispeled; the sky the bluish-grey
Of early morning, when the clouds embrace
The rising sun, but are not yet outclassed.
I think, then, it would be a wondrous thing
If time stood still, and hours never passed
And you and I could couch a while and cling.
But if it had before, how would I see
The laugh lines from you laughing back at me?
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