Dear Future,

here you are, showing us
the shape of a horizon
which gathers all
the lands on this earth
under clouds of locust wing,
and all the waters under
a spreading mantle of illness.
And dear Future, if a butterfly
coughs in China, from how far away
would we hear its cellophane death
rattle? Once I had a dream
in which all of us lay down
side by side on a long avenue
that stretched from the cliffs
through the towns and on
to the sea. If we threw
our last coins into a fountain,
would we lose sight of
the terrible estates you've
conjured out of thin air
just for us?

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