The gift of all this crumbles
with a single out-of-sync happening.
Geraniums are frosting over
and the high grass is yellowing.
Yesterday was a cat in symmetrical slumber,
pictures stood straight and warmth was
gathering like a sweet wind over the neighbourhood.
Does this mean it is my mind? like an insect living
one season, sees only that season, dies before winter,
content to have made it so long? Does this mean the puddle
I jump in, wade in, determine in
is only a pail of water, nothing beside the ocean?
When the puddle is stirred from its stillness or becomes a bath
for snakes or dries up from too much sun – it is still the puddle
and will replenish again as all puddles do in the rain, maybe
in the early evening just before the lion comes
to take a long, relaxed drink.
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 390 poems published international journals and anthologies. She has eleven published books of poetry and four collections, as well as six chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com
–Art by Marina Ćorić
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