There cannot ever be another day

Like this one: day so long, so warm with sun.

With summer in my throat I could not say

The hours I loved. I felt them, one by one,

And each with brain and heart, and both my eyes,

With marrow of my bone, with blood, hand, heel.

Later I shall remember and be wise

By just as much of time as I could feel

But while I say there cannot be, I know

There will be more tomorrows, millions more

Of captures made as fiercely and let go

As soon. There have been summer days before,

High noons within my heart, and yet I say

That nothing told me there would be to-day.