There are days/
that don’t want to leave us./ As evening comes in, they /
put on their finery: /
cloaks of gold /
and amber /
and copper /
and rose /
edged with flames /
of aureate, /
ever-burnishing orange /

elements that last lifetimes, /
aeons. /

Dressed for departure /
they linger on the threshold, /
languid, dazzling, fine, /
like they had forever /
tucked away in their pockets /
and folds /

though we both know /
they’re on their way, away, /
holding us as long /
as they can /
then kissing us goodbye /
with the whisper /
that though they must go /
they don’t have to be forgotten.

For me, a poem is a key, unlocking a moment in time and revealing the creative depths that every moment holds. Poetry brings us to creative presence.

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