The seal upon the window of an age:
Like lights that glimmer, loosely linked in lines,
The purple calm upon the yellow rage.
Though sighted, still the best we see’s through blinds:
A city skyline and a moldboard plow —
Is that the view that this, our time, defines?
Perspectives, formed by what we will allow
To pass the panes of this, our entryway,
Whose bias we will see, but disavow.
A tension born of cant and cabernet,
That drips along the line of discontent
Where workaround becomes the workaday.
The harmony of all that gets misspent
Upon tomorrows lost in wreck and rage —
Before the time to steel, and reinvent
The seal upon the window of an age…