Each Minute the Last

11951312_1198925466800331_3990099488883249004_nphoto of Watson Lakes in the North Cascades by Benjamin Janicki

The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer.

The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.

A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily

moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand open for him to go.

Each minute the last minute.
~Denise Levertov

creeper29145

To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, this!
Will it ever be thus (who knows?)
Thus with our bliss,
If we wait till the close?

Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend.
~Christina Rossetti “Summer is Ended”

homerose

As now school buses drone past the farm,
no longer bearing our children away to greater knowledge,
as they each have caught rides far beyond my reach.
I recall each first day of school feels like a day of mourning
each “last” of summer a loss, each ending so bent
I find no strength to bend it back carefree,
and I must learn, once more, with each “last”,
how fleeting the bliss of this life.

backsidebriarcroft

4 thoughts on “Each Minute the Last

  1. Thought you’d enjoy this:

    And Now-

    Soft days of warm rain

    muddy footprints, thick
    with leaves- foggy morning’s

    muted echos carry

    through the density

    To me.

    Stillness, hypnotic

    I hold my breath-

    Listening.

    SBG

    Like

  2. “Fleeting,’ yes. Like quicksilver. But so precious. The secret, I think, is to try to recognize the beauty of the moment before it slips by.
    The Cascades painting is stunning – so many facets to it – reminds me a little of Bierstadt.

    Like

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