At times,
I have grasped the stalk
and seedhead
of wild grasses,
on my journeys
through dew-marked spiderwebs
and the blueflowered chicory
that closes
when the sun is too hot,
and I have been
both old and young
at once,
remembering all the future times
I would look back
and regret
not savoring this long youth
just a little more.
Forgotten Summers
