Literary Excercise #26: Anticipation [Lately]

A poem I wrote not too long ago. In separate news, I'm reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, which is quite the evocative novel. Likely another poem will be in the works.

Anticipation [Lately]

“Much to cast down, much to build, much to restore” ~ Choruses from “The Rock”

There’s much to, too much living,
to do and be, and to create,
to breathe it in,
in one evening
(scent of river dusk)
is more
(and mayflies meeting)
and less,
than we’d admit.

Adulterate,
authenticate,
get it in, get it
on, get on
with it, or over.

Accentuation of our annals,
in our locales, of our times,
exactly the moment,
before after, after before,
when the judgment can be done.

But by what?
If indeed we are to follow,
our shadows in the morning,
and our footfalls in the night.

What to make of this
information and confession?
Point and counterpoint,
undulation.

The odd Anglican with
his beakish nose and
misplaced hate of Jews
already,
has surveyed the symmetry,
and unbalanced,
an underwhelming question—
the way we seem.

Yet more than these
wounds and wanderings,
more than things I say
and then forget,
is what you meant to me—
which was nothing,
and thus everything.

I didn’t give one damn
(and wished to give you
all)
that was, and is, of me,
and is yet to come.

And yet,
bottles empty,
firelight flaring,
hand near hand,
I can pretend this evening,
with all its sights and sounds,
will lead me to your heart
(whose beat I am in step with).

Loving both the thought
and the desire,
overlooking your
well-keeping and well-being
(and well-loved by those
who love you).

Even now the flames
are writhing,
bellowed outwards on
these shoreside rocks,
and ready,
for the breaking.