We are already history.
The past is ancient, the future
arriving daily with another email.
The choices have ended, options
corroded down to zero:
the point from which
something else emerges,
something white like bone,
like a new species of wild
grass blown across the serengeti.
Something like hot air migrating
vegetation up a mountainside
toward the permafrost peaks,
where the dead lingered, preserved,
bog-like, on their way toward another
future, two thousand years ago.
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“On their way to another future” really struck me. Good thinking!
Thanks Robert. I like the way the wider process of time kind of unfolds naturally in this one.