The making of plans, 
When this is over,
The We can't wait,
Really our knuckles rapping 
Against the future, sounding 
Out what lies beneath its hull. 
But tomorrow isn't revealed, 
Rather rendered, refined. Wrought. 
Remember that fate isn't fought 
Against. It is fought for. Again 
& again.
* * * 
Maybe there is no fresh wisdom,
Just old woes, 
New words to name them by
& the will to act. 
We've seen life lurching back in stops & starts 
Like a wet-born thing learning to walk. 
The air charged & changed. 
Us, charged & changed. 
A yoked-out eternity 
For that needle to pierce our arm. 
At last: a pain we asked for. 
Yes, it is enough to be moved 
By what we might be.