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.