At the Last

You are weathered leather thinning.

Weakened, snapped, you pull a trigger,
tying past into present and future
with a messy red bow.

You are the crack of opalescent shell at dusk,
witness to fledgling’s first breath,
oracle of its future lift of spirit wing
pushing at the apex of an empty sky

You are a certain strum of guitar
reverberating through performances pure,
plucking surfaces of symphonies
I no longer quite recall.

You are ashes to ashes to nothing at all.