How Is It (that as Time goes by I do not come apart?)

For today’s prompt, write a catching poem. This is one of those poems that threatened to go into full gallopunless I reined it in... They get caught on last, little leaves still clinging to tree-limbsAnd on dusk’s fading fringes, as eventide’s tableau dimsAnd on the corner of the street each time you board the busAs love’s tether learns to weather the Apartness of Us They snag on echo-wisps and on November’s brooding grayAnd on a phantom frame filled with pictures of YesterdayA tender memory of suppertime for at least sixBefore I was acquainted with Time’s age-old bag of tricks They catch on freckled noses and on orchards, doffed of fruitAnd on the wind that moans outside the door, like a bold bruteAnd on the close-cropped counterpane of harvest gathered inOn the moon as it pins the sky with lopsided half-grin They tangle in the awkward angles of a child, half-grownAnd catch on flakes of first snowfall, on milkweed silk, wind-blownAnd on the notes of vintage melodies at Christmas timeAnd on the big clock tower at the hour’s solemn chime On gardens as they slumber after pummeling of feetAfter summer-sweet laughter begets ballads, bittersweetAfter Autumn has yielded to the order of the earthAfter the spoil of toil displays the fruit of labor’s worth …on four-season masterpieces delighting ardent gazeOn wonder’s unpredictable and unexpected waysOn commonplace, second-to-none familiarityOn silhouettes etched on sunsets, on Baby on my knee On petals as the prime of bloom is siphoned from the stemOn the slow-but-sure weaning of youth’s teen-green diademOn so much more than page can hold, or poetry can tellOn gladness of hello and on the sadness of farewell How is it that as time goes by, I do not come apartAs often as life’s catches at the strings around my heart © Janet Martin A tender memory of suppertime for at least sixBefore I was acquainted with Time’s age-old bag of tricks...