There’s going to be more time, there’s going to be more time
before the Reaper cuts
the four dimensions down to three,
lifeless bodies high and wide
and long and timeless.
Now, more than evermore, seems rich to us.
There’s going to be more time
for the wine to pass among the sleepers,
Socrates to Aristophanes to Agathon,
time to shower and dry and stand in the doorway,
to walk before the columns of a bank’s
generations of grain-binding in marble,
the sun going public
on mornings after in….Farmington
as innocently as ever in Athens.
There’s going to be more time
to call Everyman by his first name
and Everywoman by hers,
small in the towns, huge over the anthills on farms,
and kind to more than kin.
The WORD “Peace” will invisibly appear
on curved ribbons above our towns
as on a parchment map. Ubique
will be hic again and chronos kairos.
Sooner rather than later may it come.
– Henry Braun
