What if today, I wondered, were the last day?
What if the great Here of the planet itself
ceased to be, and all that remained of it
was what remained in the memories
of those who had dwelt in its embrace?
Would I take with me fields of goldenrod
and daisies? A child’s face? Spruce boughs
seen through a window etched with winter frost?
Would I take the a loved one’s touch?
The wind? The stars? The sound of a choir?
Or of laughter? Or a guitar?
What would be etched in the book
of my mind—what beauty, what love,
what truth—if today were the very last day?