in the brief instance before my beloved
wakes, or when, looking into the hallway
mirror there is a fleeting oval of light.
We were taught not to desire
knowledge of you, for like time, you are
a mystery only God is supposed to know
how to unravel. At midnight, rain
drums on the roof and lightning flicks
its many tongues across the blinds.
In childhood, I used to think the night
sky was a dark ocean wanting to spill
over its rim. Dear future, you are coming
toward all of us; in fact, you are almost
here. Daily I address you and bribe
you with prayer; I pay what I can
toward hope of some kindly fate
whose price might be beyond my reach.