|The Water Tank (1734)|
The future arrives just as water
breaking its tension
slips over the edge of a drinking glass
and falls – you know you will feel
a cold splash on your toe
and move your foot to higher ground.
But isn’t that already in the past,
even as the words I write
for you to read tomorrow will surely
be forgotten, even by me, after?
Yet one wakes hoping to live a painless day,
a better year, only to die a good death
as if to propel oneself into a certain future
one dimly conceives perfecting all the errors
that could not be avoided a day ago.
This is the present, you said
and I believed you.
Whatever we do with it is ours.
I am slowly emerging from a hiatus, in which I deliberately put my pen down 'until December'. I do so for the excellent prompt set by Izy Gruye in The Imaginary Garden, under the heading Out of Standard: Future/Tense
In other news, I am very proud to have a selection of my poems published on Verse Wrights. My sincere thanks go to Carl Sharpe for this amazing opportunity.