Eternal Sunshine (A Letter)
'New' never remains.
No sooner coined
than consigned to a lie.
It's a little like
placing a sign in the river's
infant trickle -- "Source" -- then,
history blinks,
and the salt-stung lie is
bobbing in the Pacific
or those students
some half-century ago
in their self-righteous waves,
who have left today's Left
adjective-less.
Audacious.
And I'll never fathom 'New Age',
itself founded on old ways, and anyway
age is not a term bound for newness
but away from it.
And adults are no less blameless.
That inspired mockery across
the Atlantic -- York, Jersey, England --
centuries-old, if you catch my drift.
No, I'd much rather salvage the word,
save it for deeper times and meanings,
such as the moments I watch
turn slowly inside me,
in the womb of my memory
where we lie still,
weightless, purely, endlessly.