The Last Possible Day
On the last possible day,
at the foot of a leafless tree,
try to pop a perfect apple down,
hurl a rotten one to loosen
that wormless one, stare up, dizzy
limbs shake against a still sky--
Breathe. Picture it. Follow through--
Thud of success. Bite sun-warmed,
dusty skin into hard white sweetness.
Quiet, then frogs buzz. The ears
of a doe and two fawns flicker
at the tips of golden brush,
listening for dusk.
Traveler. Baker. Beauty Seeker. Hiker. Paper Ephemera Collector. Sharpie Lover. Etch-A-Sketch Artist. Mondegreen (Misheard Lyric) Connoisseur. Public Space Ninja. Nickname Giver.
Half Sky Writing is a service of Half Sky Journeys.
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