Monday, February 2, 2015

The Long-ness of Good-bye





Last night time tucked another quaver to its silver sheaf
It almost pushed me over in a sudden wave of grief
The measure-stick of moments analyzes history
Its tally; you have never been this far away from me

Past takes its freshest picture and pins it onto a wall
It paints across dulled tincture like we never met at all
I know within my heart of hearts some things can never pass
Yet I have seen those very things like dead leaves on the grass

We cannot gather backwards, only here and now we hold
A basket that is begging for our present moment-gold
Before night draws to never-more, this door on soundless hinge
…we stagger forward to a shoreline on tomorrow’s fringe

For we are strange collectors, even as we sense and feel
Time’s stash of seasons dwindling sometimes we look back and steal
Like guilty moment-swindlers, one more itty-bitty sigh
Knowing Today is flowing to the long-ness of good-bye

© Janet Martin

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