• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 09
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Sea Shalls

The future tense sounds careless
when we speak of tomorrow
as something more real than fog
or a glass wall today runs into

when we least expect it.
Blindfellen, we search
as if we can construct what will
as we deconstructed yesterday’s

bits of dead-end beams and corners
we never did look around.
The future is an unchanging ocean
with a wild surf if we dream it

while the mate in our bed
rides a slack tide.
The future channels no wake
before the boat, offers

no certainties of sky,
is what we look to
when this is not enough,
uncertain where the horizon lies.