River Morning

That time in September

When summer’s almost gone;

A butterfly drifts

To the ground,

More beautiful in its decline.


The river carries

The moment.

It cannot hold the sun.


Like a firefly in a jar,

Can we hold it close

So our heart

Beat sustains it,

Even as our days

Wind down?


September, 2018 (rev. 9/6/18)

2 thoughts on “River Morning

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