Not to grasp

Rap albums, folk music, post-college friend.
Amber ale, Spanish wine, organic smokes.
Papa John’s, bawdy jokes, Donnybrook dudes…

I must break the meter to tell you all that
it was grand, and befitting a much
nobler form than blank verse and
a more present tense than this one
to have seen you all, heard you all, traded
the stuff of times past with you all once again.

Let it not be that the months flee
from all of us so very quickly (as
they clearly did), before we again
all assemble and bend the old
elbow to all that may still hold us fast:
to the Good and the True — I will not say
The Beautiful: such is a hope I presume
not to grasp. Not just yet.