The clouds' disintegrating script
spells out the word squander.
Tree shadows lie down in the field.
Clipped to a grass blade's underside,
a crisp green grasshopper
weighs down the tip,
swaying between birth and death.
I'll think of him as we clink
glasses with the guests,
eating olives as the sun goes down.
About this poem
"'Never' points at the awareness of a moment of lapsed consciousness-one, of course, of an endless stream. To be awake in the world is to be constantly reminded of one's own deep sleep."
About Chase Twichell
Chase Twichell's most recent book is "Horses Where the Answers Should Have Been: New and Selected Poems" (Copper Canyon Press, 2010). She splits her time between the Adirondacks of northern New York and Miami Beach, Fla.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.
(c) 2014 Chase Twichell. Originally published by the Academy of American Poets, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate