Grasping the Ethereal

You reach arm deep into memories unstirrred to find

A capsule, a hollow, a rounded space awaiting

Soft to touch and cold to feel, it is ethereal

And commonplace are reactions such as these:

A startle, a quickening of breath tapered with realisation

And a dozen pangs of wistfulness

It is impossible to grip a thing that which belongs to wetness

It is uncomfortable to live within a thing that which belongs to yesterday

But it is too hard to stopper your outstretched arm with anything but faint resistance

Hold steady, and touch to sense but do not touch to feel,

You are not ethereal