Last Days

Last Days
Things are
changing; things are starting to
spin, snap, fly off into
the blue sleeve of the long afternoon. Oh and ooh
come whistling out of the perished mouth
of the grass, as things
turn soft, boil back
into substance and hue. As everything.
forgetting its own enchantment, whispers:
I too, love oblivion why not it is full
of second chances. Now,
hiss the bright curls of leaves. Now!
booms the muscle of the wind.
Mary Oliver