The Present Now and Forever
Last year’s dead leaves
are buried in the dross of this year’s Autumn,
like memories, even the recent kind,
barely poking through the fresh fallout
from what is known.
this shifting of resources
from the present to the future,
leaving the past to glean what it can
from what presses so hard upon it.
Even spring eschews the fact
there ever was a spring before.
And summers rope off other summers.
They’re museum pieces open few hours
and with time-resistant viewings.
From my window,
on a May morning,
I see trees festooned with green,
flowers in abundance.
No other window can compete.
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