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.
It will not –
oh, it cannot,
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