Up to now echoes are not
          the first thing said.
Up to now if I’ve called for help,
          my rescuers haven’t heard me.
Up to now the present is discernible
          only as the past, and
Up to now it’s not clear
          what love entitles me to.
Up to now there is no real evidence
          that anyone’s out to get me.
Up to now the misery of thin children
          happens in remote places.
Up to now I have lived no day as if
          it reduced my remaining days.
Up to now I’ve not looked around
          to see if I’m alone.
Up to now the death of one season starts another.
Up to now the poem I haven’t written
          is as good as it will be when I write it.
Up to now moonlight has revealed
          nothing but continued expectation.
Up to now it always ends up raining.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 33 Number 1, on page 34
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