Tomorrow
Yes, yes I forgive you.
I reach, eyes closed, for your naked paws;
for are you not faithful? Like a dog you wait
and I bless you now for your patience.
Mother comes out of you, father to,
and my son makes a cradle for me
with his elegant fingers.
Many backward facing faces
lead me to our surrender -
I to the undercroft and unknowable clouds,
and you to these steps I have carved
into my ancestral backbones
where time has climbed its hand-made ladder.
Yes, I see you now,
you are no longer mist or miasma,
but clear of eye as an infant,
for yes, you are a mirror.
Let me not die this night, and if it must be night
let it be your tomorrow night.
Soon I must pass into that looking-glass
where all is birthed, even death
and all that I have known
will be recorded there, and all that I have forgot
will be remembered.
I will not call you: future, present or past,
If I so thought, or did so call
then there would be no womb for me
in the ever ripening cosmos
of that which has yet to be yet.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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