Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon

The wind stirs up longings
The blood answers
The breath nods like a sage
While the earth itself
Purrs in the gathering rain clouds
Of portentous creation

Nobody knows exactly
Not even the scientists
Where we’ll all be in ten years
But we unconsciously
Hold hands like kids
Singing “London Bridge”
Knowing all poems are futile

Someday we’ll have a solar roof
Give up our car
And ride a bicycle
Recycle bath water for the garden
‘Til then, we’re just surviving
In the years we thought
Were supposed to be golden