Not Always Thus

The trouble is: We want more and more

and then more of this.

Only this morning: Relaxing over coffee,

James Taylor singing Fire and Rain,

A tiny black and orange bird at the feeder

we’d never seen before,

the summer light just so

on the bed of daisies out front.

This very morning.

The word I am looking for is savour.

Savour this:

It will not –

oh, it cannot,

last.