What is power of being the last of anything,
That there is no other and we need reminding,
how precious and rare like fresh air,
or a loved one's last breath.

What hold on our being does it have, when there is only one,
That you cannot hold in your hand, or take your eye away,
What would you do, if your child was that one, like our singular sun,
Precarious grasp on life, bumble bees, dragonflies, please stay.

It does not end here.
Last of all I fear.
I will write and write
until I get it right,
in last words that
all can hear the poetry,
that all you can write,
type, say or do.

Peace.