With light, a shadow,
after the tide, an ebb–
Nothing wholly itself,
everything containing
a trace of its own leaving.
The yellow morning
catches in the spider web’s
sheer girder, an ode
on capability, and a dirge
for the inevitable–
There is a chill now at dawn.
Sometimes I don’t know what to say:
It’s no joy to always consider
all that is possible.
The gothic ruin of these late
October maples, a pang of beauty
sometimes so sharp–
but then my breath takes shape
in the air,
the mud, frosted over,
gleams like ground glass
and another day begins
with gratitude,
the eventual and only
lesson of loss–
OPTIONAL POETRY 
Lik the soo good👍
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Thanks!
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Gratitude: the eventual and only lesson of loss.
Wow. Profound! ❤️❤️❤️
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I was going to comment on exactly the same line … in fact I’d go further and wonder if “the eventual and only lesson” might be the title of the poem (that it doesn’t have)
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Some of us lack the knack for coming up with titles that others seem to have… please feel free to offer title suggestions at any time 🙂
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Thank you, Yusra! I love it when a line like that comes in out of seemingly nowhere
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The beautiful melancholy of autumn. Stark branches piercing the strange and distant sky.
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seasons of mist, and mellow fruitfulness… 🙂
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