The Ungraspables

This

morning

she was young.

But by late afternoon,

as the the sun became shrouded in afternoon fog,

she had aged.

 

And soon afterwards,

when that same sun

lowered itself into the Pacific,

even her thoughts

felt old.

 

“One day you too

will see how this works,” she said.

“For now though,

you needn’t think about it

much.”

 

As if anyone

could make sense

of the ungraspables.

 

How youthful color

turns pallid grey,

how a back,

once rippling with vigor,

becomes suddenly prostrate,

how energy,

however ineradicable,

sneaks away

to serve elsewhere.

 

While we can

we must both run.

We must run

into the long night

laughing and singing.

 

And then, for this night alone,

we must grasp for both

laughter and song.

 

What is good is what is before us.