A.R. Ammons
The first cool spell has
cracked the white aspers open,
samples here and there,
and tomorrow's promised warmth will
stir a few bees loose:
there's something besides
death and nothingness,
even if winter is coming:
and, anyway, death isn't
a place you get all the way
to: as you arrive
what is arriving
diminishes and
finally, touch to touch,
nothing is equal to nothing.
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