Future is Older Than the Past

Join The Dillydoun Review in celebrating National Poetry Month with

A Poem by Jonathan Koven

Something blossoming, a star!
For all I see, in stolid smoke
and shadow, weaves
universes all their own.

When I wake from a dream within a dream,
doctors scale my reach,
whispering, to peel
the sky’s clouds like petals.

I love you, I love you not, until only blue.
In wake, feel part of a poem unfurling
that no one reads. I am its metaphor
which mixes, in the end.

Drain the moon its silver; inside wilts a rose
I could watch die, or instead water it
to life, or something beautiful beyond death,
for God knows the moon keeps a greater soul.

I was standing still, with hopeless descent
of the mind, to remember my inner child,
he who remembers my imagined future,
older than anything at all.

Still, our hearts break to recapture under-earth
as constellation, to paint a lake to drown
my sorrows, and maybe someone else’s. I know
not everyone will know what I hope I know.

There is nothing sordid about this scream.
Glory’s demand from outside heaven’s gate
still serenades: You are there
and I are here.

I want to believe this rips out
our roots, to before the dream began.
I finally see the end is the light, the light at the end
of all the walking toward the end of the light.

I have walked longer
than I can remember, agaze
at smoke and shadows, weaving
universes all their own.

Jonathan Koven grew up on Long Island, NY, embraced by tree-speak, tide’s rush, and the love and support of his family. He holds a BA in English and Creative Writing from American University, works as a technical writer, and is Toho Journal’s head fiction editor and workshop coordinator. He lives in Philadelphia with his best friend and future wife Delana, and cats Peanut Butter and Keebler. Read his fiction and poetry at Lindenwood Review, Night Picnic, Iris Literary, and more. His debut chapbook Palm Lines is available now from Toho Publishing.

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