Tomorrow
I came upon a man whose eyes did sorely peer.
Believing each time he blinked,
he defeated the sun,
if ever so briefly.
It was he who believed
he could see the low sweet chariot come.
And let all the years compress
into final thoughts of one.
He understood there is no promise
from one moment to next.
No promise the Maker’s hand will not overtake.
And he had not a child’s understanding for what will happen next
or if he would be accompanied with flight into firmament.
But he did understand now is not the time to seek a do-over.
And he said to me “Wherever I am,
the sun will set in the west.
And there will be a new red rose bloom —somewhere—
—Tomorrow.”