Empyrean
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues
Working: Vol. 4, No. 2 - Issue 14 Summer 2025

World Enough, And Time​

Issue 11
            Let us roll all our strength, and all
            Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
            Through the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
            "To His Coy Mistress,” Andrew Marvell
I.
With neither world enough nor time
Let’s thumb our noses at them both,
Pack a few carry-on’s and fly
Around the globe and cross the centuries
From Constantinople to Cathay,
From ancient Illyria to bustling Pompeii.
We’ll just go, for neither coy
Nor any longer young are you,
And in truth we have far less world
And time than Marvell and his mistress did,
More reason still for us to tear
Our pleasures plumb through until we reach
That final private place, where our Marvell
Aptly says, none do embrace. 
 
II.
So let’s make our next ten years
Ten centuries of spontaneous embraces:
Defiant, we’ll curse nature’s state
And concoct our own time, where time
Has no measure, which will bequeath to us
More than a world enough, so that the time
That eats at us we with our ravenous
Appetites shall eat alive.
And as for that hurrying, harrowing sun,
Before he sees us coming we’ll strike
That fucker dumb, in the name of God
I swear we’ll make him run.
 
III.
Long ago each of us learned
To put away our childish things,
And afterwards both lived the years
Of our mature, domestic selves.
But now, here we are, green again,
Admitting a few mistakes, but knowing
That those we became good parents with
We grew distant from too, and loved no more. 
So let us make the case for youth,
But layered with the wisdom of our years,
A boy and girl in love again but blessed
With the curse and gift of love’s experience.
Let’s go then, and take our chances as the clock
Ticks away.  The sun awaits: let’s play. 
 
IV.
But what is time, that it can count down
Our days?  Why does each setting
Of our sun subtract us hour by hour?
Need it be so?  Not that we
Have any say.  Still, there is will,
To defy that sun, realizing that
While we will make him run,
At race’s end we’ll be undone.
So, knowing that we cannot win,
I ask you, as our days evaporate,
Will you be my girl, as the centuries
Unfurl?  You know what I mean: my girl,
Ever young, even after our memories
Go, and after, when we turn to dust.

MARC MANGANARO is a university administrator and author who has written books published by Princeton University Press and Yale University Press, and his work has appeared in journals such as The Missouri Review, Public Culture, and The Yale Journal of Criticism. Recent poems of his have been showcased in Poetry Pacific, Modern Literature, and Poetry Breakfast.  He is a former recipient of a National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowship, and some years ago served as Editor-in-Chief of The Carolina Quarterly.  A native of Nebraska, he now calls New Orleans home.

Copyright © 2025 Empyrean Literary Magazine, L.L.C.
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues