Let us consider life
as a series of poems
that sometimes rhyme
and sometimes doesn’t. But
you can only see the shadow ahead,
and no further. O, you think,
my calendar is full next month.
That is only a prediction, not a fact.
The bird flies. The kindling makes fire.
The limestone rock explodes when the kindling
on top heats. These are facts. Things you can see
in the here and now. Birds will fly, kindling
will make fire, the limestone may burst—
predictions. Shadows. And perhaps
you lean into shadows, lean into what
may happen. We all do. Life pushes to the forefront
the now of cells and the clues of shadows.
Reinventing itself every breath.