When the future contacts the present,
it can be for stunning purposes,
such as predicting whales beached
in Florence or a bread basket drought.
It may be to stop people from talking
without learning more, or to reveal
laws of mesmerism, say, or the effects
of hormone-mimicking reagents released
from industrial drums into the public trust.
The future doesn’t shy away from barging in,
whether we’re on stage in the archaic Greek
theater, delivering parts from behind masks,
or undergoing a fresh arc in the sad story
of civilization putting its animals at risk.
It stands at the gates of global horse races,
the future, where it fires the handgun
in a display of power, terrifying the horses
that bolt into the distance, disappearing
faster than anyone watching might want,
for the sake of all you can take to the banks
of the passing river of diamonds from rings,
diamond waves leaving the present behind
in places altered when the moon shines,
revealing the appearance of an empty world,
while rich moonlight pours down into pools
of breath across the yards, and reaches
behind the closed eyes of morning birds.