Our first saline optimism heaves
forgetting the eyeless tomorrow,
as if all my friends humility powered hours
of inept meditation and cheering
updates, under aged: be ready! Say
their urgent blind appeals. Every friend
whose words face mauve manners,
they never shunned a summer, they never
fell back into the arms of shadows,
winter screeching its glazed
irony at a dartless dripping spring.
Be agile, and lock up your ambitions.
O eye words clamouring to respond
ground control to the calling rain,
be an umbrella, or better
be dry when the hurricane
loves you desperately: this
will be our year, possessed
delusions bowing to mouths
ears and weekends
until it’s over and then whose
then why then did I then forget
to be optimistic again.