By breaths exhaling want
By a future thats an amorphous
Mass not defined By
Physics.
The future is a non-newtonian solid.
Do I know what that really means?
Where I see summer in robins and grass and flying discs
I see an uncertainty, a certain winter.
Cold and fog and biting wind.
And in the Midst
Are my bare blackened feet
Tasting the freshly thawed warm ground
Running for a catch
Where I see robins I see uncertainty.
In between myself and what's next
Are my open palms, the markers of my genetic code
Those little trenches that spiral through their surface
Are filled with freshly thawed warm ground,
Straining for a catch.
Waiting for the wind, waiting for an answer.
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