Day 30, The Last
Not until this moment,
the sky impossibly coral streaked
& filled in by downy cloud,
did I accept the end of another year.
Some of what goes up does not come back the same:
the leaf that fell now rises as smoke,
its rustle now crackles,
its color now roasts,
& its rust smells of cherry, oak, & smoky peat.
soon, I know, the cold rains will come,
the leaves' revenge, the end of fire,
the long sleep of seed & soil,
until the green fuse lit:
pop of bloom, crack of ice, hum of bird return.
but now, this evening that holds the cold away at a flames length,
a sky beholden not to art,
there is no sense in holding on to the past,
just being here now, just seeing & smelling
the end of another season is enough to settle this month's doubts.
Love this. Love it. It's interesting/telling to me how good your poems have been this month, given how much mental anguish/annoyance they have caused you. ;)
ReplyDeleteYeah. I missed a few days, but I'm glad I got through. It was tough, these did not come easy and time was tight. I don't know about good, but each poem has something in it that I'm happy with, proud of, but as a whole they scream out that same mediocrity that the level of commitment (and talent) I pit into them. Thanks!
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