Prophecy

Prophecy

The red of the hammock will bleed and fade in time

The cracks on the porchstones expand, degrade in time

The tempo I swing at will not change much, I think

Though I've brittled, and shrunk, and slowed, and grayed in time

On the patio tables the permanent frozen shadow

Of the boards and the cards of the games that we played in time

All the things that you said would break and snap and die

All those words: an unexploded grenade in time

You will rotate from chair to chair, balding and reading

Soothsaying and waiting, slumping and splayed in time

I will lie back and swing while the clouds and the trees turn colors

The deer in the yard watch me: remade, unmade, in time