This is the longest day,
so I guess it's all downhill from here.
The light gradually fades, but
so does the freshness of spring,
and now it's heat and dust until
the rains come, and before you know it,
winter. It seems like somehow
it should be different. But once again
we find ourselves in the world
where flowers fade and leaves
curl and brown and drop.
In spite of our efforts and intentions.
the earth persists in its awkward orbit,
displacing us from our rightful place in the sun.
The endless summers of childhood
live only in imagination, and the world
we proposed has once again failed
to come to pass. Still just this one life,
and the pages continually turning.
While we're on the subject,
our heroes could have been more
reliably virtuous, our parents more
understanding, our children more
devoted. Our bodies did not have
to be so frail, and who decided dogs
would only live a handful of years?
The whole design of it, every part,
leaves something to be desired.
Perhaps I will start by desiring
the roses, the orange-winged moths,
the damp morning grass, the crescent moon.
the succulent peaches, the litany
of transient gifts that persist in arriving.
through absolutely no fault of my own.
-Lynn Ungar 6-20-24
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