By Carolyn Pinet
Like the first morning
so glorious it breaks your heart.
Reasons I come to sit here are many:
fall mimics summer,
the trees scintillate with color
under a flawless sky,
we shed our layers and
let the heat enter each pore,
perhaps for the last time,
or the next-to-last time,
no-one can be sure
how much our globe is warming
or how long we will spin
recklessly, gloriously,
among the stars.
Still, my little black dog, insatiable,
consumes dropped crumbs,
lives this moment
with neither future nor past.
My finished crossword
looks accomplished,
almost as Word perfect
as this morning,
brilliant
as a newly coined poem...
"Morning has broken..." Cat Stevens
"And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us." John, 1, 14