Arc of the Horizon

In the cellar of the will
lies its store of aging wisdom
not to do, but what has been done
and forms the painting of who we would love to be.

Each day we pour into these vessels
the basic instinct of our being
a look to what is ahead
but rarely beyond.

Since what is beyond is the most dreadful and dull
for it is just another painting
another horizon, another vision
and each with its store of aging wisdom.

But can these bottles become wise?
Before we run out of time?
Or shall these containers pass on to others,
so that they may drink from our delights and miseries?

Most likely it is so; that we shall become another’s footnote
and have our day in the sun as brief as a tulip’s unfolding,
lest we crack open the repository
and become intoxicated with its blood-burning contents.

Glimpse then that this horizon is one of many
and many form one in a chronicle weave;
stand then before history—before events—
and see the arc being formed at each pulsating intonation:
being its witness you may always choose to forfeit your discovery
and return to a state worse than ignorance,
or reach out to this ultimate concern
and shape the arc through newly freed logic.