|Once you've managed to survive
the devastation of late capitalism
as well as yourself, once we’ve seen
and done it all, what's left for us
but the epiphany of how things stack up?
Not to mention spiritual peace.
Not to mention memories that skedaddle
to the back of beyond, but never mind,
since what follows, they say, stinks even more.
Not to mention our crossed destinies.
According to reputable studies
of environmental impact, what we reap
is what we’ve been sowing row by row
but you and I have never sown a thing
and we display the joy of being together,
understanding the whole truth of what
we’ve seen and done which, when tallied,
consists of nothing more than a net
of vague things, moments, situations
which won't disappear from the stage.
A qualitative leap occurred in the form
of an undulating blue piece of canvas
and beds and olive groves. In this context,
every conjugal pair of bathers is plausible.
You've got this down pat. We sketch orbits
around a highly valued microcosm,
a landscape composed of organic dust,
and calmly accept that the march of time
will make us different from what we were,
filling with meaning what was empty
emptying of meaning what contained it.
As long as our health permits,
we’ll scrutinize the horizon of the future
as if Simeon the Stylite had stamped
his name on our way of working.