Future

 

I can't see my future clearly.
It's a wash of color and light.

Maybe a glimpse of a house

with wood floors, the death

of a parent, a dog, a cat, a love,

but nothing certain.  I like its fog.

Inevitably something will happen, pieces

will fall into place if I keep breathing

and I'll eat, I'll work, I'll learn

and know and forget.  There'll be

another bowl full of berries, a hot cup

of tea, additional travel and sorrow.

There'll be a clean pair of pants,

the sun's good glow, a cut and blood,

a hole to dig, a bath to take, a mistake to mend.

What lies ahead is a promise

standing in shadow, one second

pasted to the next.  I don't need to call it

by name. A riddle ensues, a song of guessing,

a vow of risk. The road becomes itself

single stone after single stone

made of limitless possibility,

endless awe.

-- Jacqueline Suskin

[Foggy morning at Gale Meadows Pond in Londonderry, VT].