by Rachel Hadas
No longer so much when did it begin
As how far does it stretch,
The border where, the frame invisible,
But there is a frame. And here we are
In one another’s arms, with the illusion
That in some sudden switch we are abruptly
Closer to the end than the beginning.
Measuring time back from a beginning
Starts to get old, at which point we begin
Measuring it forwards toward an end.
We measurers dawdle in a still green garden
Going slowly golden.
And then the leaves will fall,
As one of us will, followed by the other.