The future, after all,
is what comes after us.
– Quinton Duvall (“Early Report”)
The full moon has fallen behind the ridge
and it is dark again before hot dawn spills
white heat in molten streams over the divide.
There is no hurry now, no rush to arrive
ahead of time to catch tomorrow’s news,
to know beyond this moment stretched
between few stars while you are sleeping,
dreaming in our foreign tongue of touching
details, the delicate webs of spiders spun
overnight that will glisten soon like silver,
the dawn’s long shadows ours to devour.
But we plan our days to graze the gloaming.
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