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Nothing Lasts

Today's poem is Nothing Lasts by Deborah Cummins. It is read by Gibson Fay-LeBlanc.

Nothing Lasts

Not this morning's errant wind gust,
its only intention to have merely been.

The perfectly ripe nectarine, its juices
running down my chin. Not me,

This body built for an ending.
This container of my many selves.

Spaces where things can begin
to go wrong. The indiscernible

click. The tiny catch in the gears.
Some switch failing to flip.

Our bodies, with their elegiac
backbeats, built for an ending.

Meanwhile, just beyond my window,
clouds impeccable, tides unstoppable.

Meanwhile, joy is dispatched
from who knows where,

When sunlight pours down
and I can almost smell the blue.