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