Signs here now

In the magic hour, the camera be waking,
reminding us there is no tomorrow –
or at least it is contingent, you can’t guarantee it,
you can’t depend upon it, no science or god
of yours or mine can give you the certainty
that you crave, that you think will banish
the fear as you climb up stairs you can
see through, kiss lips you hope you will
never lose.

We could, of course, worry about all of this;
or we could embrace risk, as the capitalists
keep telling us to do – and do not think we
are far away from them in this field; this crop
that flutters between our fingers is the
original prediction, the original statement
of faith: I sow, I reap, I sell – and you can
trust me on that. Sign here now.

But then, that’s all we’re ever looking for,
isn’t it? Signs here now, so that we can stop
looking, shield our eyes, and give in to the bliss
we know must end.