Dear future, sometimes I see you

  
in the brief instance before my beloved 

wakes, or when, looking into the hallway
mirror there is a fleeting oval of light. 

We were taught not to desire  
knowledge of you, for like time, you are 

a mystery only God is supposed to know 
how to unravel. At midnight, rain
 
drums on the roof and lightning flicks
its many tongues across the blinds.

In childhood, I used to think the night
sky was a dark ocean wanting to spill 

over its rim. Dear future, you are coming
toward all of us; in fact, you are almost 

here. Daily I address you and bribe 
you with prayer; I pay what I can 

toward hope of some kindly fate 
whose price might be beyond my reach.