A leaf separates from a twig on a tree
tumbling for seven seconds
on a journey to the ground.
For seven seconds a pedestrian
crosses a busy intersection
before a swarm of traffic invades.
A mother sparrow satisfies hunger
as she drops insects for seconds
into the gaping beaks of her young.
A concert master stands, baton poised,
head raised for large seconds
before sweet sound spreads.
A pause stretches for seven seconds
before a first kiss
felt as far as the soles of eager feet.
With the fragrance of eucalyptus
passing through my window
seconds stroll lightly by
as a leaf quietly comes to rest.
Marianne Brems is a long time writer of textbooks, but also loves to write whimsical poems. She has an MA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in several literary journals including The Pangolin Review, Armarolla, Foliate Oak, The Voice of Eve, La Scrittrice, and The Sunlight Press. She lives in Northern California.