“Why leave the safety of the intervisible lands?”
You may think you have a future.
You may think you have no future,
By which you mean nothing of worth,
But that future you’re thinking of—
Expansive or shrunk to a pin
To share with your other angels—
Brilliant, horrific, winged, bright, grim—
That’s just jumbled experience.
Whatever you think is what’s next
Is scrap-book collage of your past—
Green or dark peaks you imagine,
Hazy in an ocean distance
Of those futures you remember—
Land. It’s the future you can’t see—
The invisible concealing
Leviathans you’ve never met—
That’s the realest future you get.