When this celebration shall have reached fruition,

where shall I be? For every fruit, when ripened, falls

from where it had been positioned.

I would, if I were there, if

I were ready, puff out my cheeks,

and bite so deep I’d reach its succulence.

But so much hinges on transient times and tenuous places.

More than likely, when you have finally turned,

bestowed one giddy kernel of a moment,

I shall have tired, spun off whatever remains of this investment,

and be into another mine, another wild and wooly,

if specious speculation.

So what if it is neither gold, like you, nor silver.

We all must learn, and live, with whatever love is given.