Releasing the Day
I sent the lure’s feathery feelers reeling
up and away to go rest in the last ripples
of sunlight. I can’t quite convince myself
to carpe some other diem
and to release this day.
I want to jump
into the sun-drenched lake and color myself
in its borrowed amber light, because moments
are like fish: when you hook a good one,
you can’t help but hold on tight.
But these ancient photons
were never really mine.
They took eons to get here
only to disappear,
and even the ones that seeped
into my skin will soon etherize.
Still, I want:
To dye my hair vermillion
with the embers of the setting sun
as it powders the cotton-ball sky with blush.
To dip my feet in the silent lake and hear
the wind start to make the bulrushes sway
and sing as the evening hush is obliterated
by a chorus of toads, and insects taking wing.
To sit in my boat and learn
to take in all the nighttime
creatures doing nighttime things.