Well within the stretch
Days like this when the sun
looks back over a shoulder
of mountain for one last
count of seven cows
and the tops of too many
hardwoods to mention
before it places the fully
extended wings of a bald eagle
in the sky over our heads
so close the yellow wildflowers
at our feet reveal themselves
as being the feathers of goldfinch
all long and none of us
remembers what it means
to breathe and let me say
if you have never heard
an afternoon stutter for breath
it is the sound a stone makes
as it skips an impossible
distance across the surface
of the river right past
the steep path that leads
to the house where later
tonight we will wonder
if the stone is still going
then fall asleep that much
younger to imagine
it most certainly is.
by Charles Carr
Twitter: @selfrisinmojo
Editor’s Note: This poem’s long thought happens without punctuation or pause, reinforcing the title and final image.
Leave a Reply