Just yesterday my poem lamenting the power Of time to sweep away all trace of the beautiful Seemed done at last, but the light this morning Shows it to be a sketch, evidence that my vision Cleared as I slumbered, that my sense of beauty Grows in the night like corn or bamboo. Maybe a poem in praise of time Ought to be next on my agenda, The time required for seeds to open, For leaves to push out on tender stems. Yesterday, the teacher didn't believe the excuse Her student offered for missing his appointment— A tire gone flat on the Thruway—but today His story seems almost convincing, Suggesting how quickly the bruise to her ego Has begun to heal, the first small step From the tiresome realm of insult and umbrage. Yesterday the lover couldn't commit himself. Today he wants to write his beloved A check for a million dollars, Though the time hasn't come, he admits, For her to cash it. Meanwhile, though he has nothing, Whatever he has is hers.
Copyright © 2012 by Carl Dennis. Used with permission of the author.