I Thought Things Were Turning Around

The hope was as false as thinking

With all your heart that the sun

Wouldn’t set on the horizon but in mid-day

Decide to go backwards to bed,

Like believing that the ocean will have its fill

Of river water and stop its own evaporation

Denying the clouds their formation

Denying the soil its quench

Denying the basins their lakes,

Like thinking a generation could decide

Not to have children ending the whole human enterprise,

None of which are probable nor graceful.

What we’re left with are lungs that are pained

To supply oxygen to an ailing heart

That has all but stopped pumping itself

To keep a mind alive to know these wearisome things,

That change at the most fundamental levels

Is as impossible for creation as for a person.