There is a woman across the street playing catch with an old golden lab whose enthusiasm outpaces her tired body
There is noontime light landing on a city that has become a home I wasn't always sure was real
There is some bright blur of meaning tickling the velvet depths of my core, asking me to ask it more
There is a mayfly landing on my hand and she is pausing my pen and then the poem, she is becoming the poem, is the poem, is flying away towards ancient, lofty places
Did you know that most only live a few hours?
What an honor to be touched by her time
Is she aware of her own ephemerality, do you think? That today is the very first and very last day of her life? Or is forever on her mind as she flies?
I do believe in an eternity of sorts
But, one that begs we spend our time here well
Loving, landing, accepting the warmth we are offered, knowing when to part those prismatic, stained glass wings and rise
This now, being our very first and very last life.