not the future, please!

Never knowing the future
Is like not knowing the past.

Both are up and down, gone,
here and there.

Little words for the big–
BIG mystery that we should let be:

The future, and the past.

Mystery is the diet between too many words spoken,



Drop drip, azure lake

Hope for hurricanes–

Anything to break the

Crested white foam washing up on the beach.

Anything to interrupt the pulsing panting of

Lapping waves.

Sometimes you interrupt them yourself:

Plant your feet in the deep wet sand.

Saltwater circling round, keeping moving

Waves wash move and lap, erasing planted

Footprints, ephemeral sketches etched in the

Movement of time.

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