So gradually, it seemed, the way
Things pass: the ice cube in the glass
Disappears in a pool of grey;
The bright bud’s stem fades into grass.
We sit in living rooms, observe
The slowing of the walk, the skin
Worn thin, obedient to a curve
The mind can trace from what has been.
Great cities sink, and continents,
Into wide waters that endure.
Stray cats prowl crumbled monuments
We can envision whole and pure.
We mourn in comfort things’ decline,
Not realizing that the end
Will still stop hard. Brother of mine,
You’ve left us nothing time could bend.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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