The meaning of things lags.
Decisively we move ahead,
aimlessly we drift forward,
furiously we burst through,
timidly we creep behind,
ending, not quite as we imagined,
on the perimeter of the future,
our predictions muddled, confounded
and realized. And still we must decide
our next posture. Defensive? Feinting?
Assertive? The meaning, of course,
is key, but the meaning of things lags.
We have arrived, but the future
with all the answers we crave
has moved on. Like gods we create
metaphors of flashlights to help,
picking our way through unlit places.
And on the walls of the caves
loom the shadows of ourselves, of messages
calling on us for explanation.
We are suddenly oracles, machines
to create meaning. And we do,
securing our base camp
on the perimeter of the future,
planning to rest and move on
before the peak recedes again.
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