Tomorrow is but an empty container
Of items listed on his agenda.
Tasks yet undertaken.
A piece of flesh, a slice of life,
Three, four, five times over.
Looking way beyond the ledge.
Horizons capped, limits reached.
A man’s image twice complete.
You ask me how I know he’s been here.
Just look up into yesterday’s sunset
And you will see the unfinished product.
A bunch, a bushel,
Measured for you.
Can you (will you)
See the end?
© 1998 Steven Barto