Poems September 2014
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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