They are preparing to begin again:
Problems, new pennant up the flagpole
In a predicted romance.
About the time the sun begins to cut laterally across
The western hemisphere with its shadows, its carnival echoes
The fugitive lands crowd under separate names.
It is the blackness that succeeds gaiety, and Everyman must depart
Out there into stranded night, for his destiny
Is to remain unfruitful out of the lightness
That passing time evokes. It was only
Cloud-castles, adept to seize the past
And possess it, through hurting. And the way is clear
Now for linear acting into that time
In whose corrosive mass he first discovered how to breathe.
Just look at the filth you’ve made,
See what you’ve done.
Yet if these are regrets they stir only lightly
The children playing after supper,
Promise of the pillow and so much in the night to come.
I plan to stay here a little while
For these are moments only, moments of insight,
And there are reaches to be attained,
A last level of anxiety that melts
In becoming, like miles under the pilgrim’s feet.
—John Ashbery, “The Task”
Art Credit Jens Ullrich