I Am Bruised By The Transient Nature Of Things

(somewhere around the world a kitten dies)


backlit by the porch light

I feel the fluttering heartbeat in the breast of a duck

hands stained red

over holes shaped like bobcat’s teeth

I once cupped in my hands the tiny fragility of a duckling

who dove and splashed in the kitchen sink

whose dainty fluffiness spanned the width of my palm and no more.

The fluttering stops.

Every moment is filled with the slipping away of things.

A breath

A name

A friendship

The knowledge of the knowledge of these is as much a dream as any. I grasp at them all.

Driving by my old elementary school

I am struck by the drab smallness

the empty schoolyard

Somehow, though, I still feel

that if I were to climb the fence

cross the distance of the playground

under the slide

There would be a small girl with yellow hair

weaving a necklace out of dandelions

freshly picked, already wilting.


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