My sojourns repeat themselves, going
after relics that never existed, recapturing
the memories of ghosts. You may ask
why I continue to tolerate a hopeless
cause, finding solace in circles—
I do not know how to define existence,
or the way to measure its boundaries.
I am lost and confused by an absence
that seems to be devouring what
might have become the future.
What can I do but shelter the things
I can’t yet see inside an identity
I do not yet possess? Soon there will be
nothing left but the letting go. Until
what isn’t there becomes all that remains.
Here is the place I must abide.
For earthweal, where Brendan asks: Working for the best present, this shifting, dysynchronous, pre-apocalyptic now: That is your challenge this week. What does the landscape of this look like where you live and celebrate your being?