Tomorrow

Of course we are. Exploding.
Toddlers building sandcastles on a beach.
We’ve dreamt so many wonders.
Rainbows, sunflowers, mountains, bodies.

Pressed to the floor, under the bed. Don’t make a sound as the black boots march by
Be silent, still, frozen.
Do not even dare to breathe.
They will line us up, impose their will, crush our necks, and steal our light.
Click Click go the black boots.

Tell me something sweet.
Conjure me a clear lake, a baby’s smile, a Pegasus to fly away on.

We’ve made this world with too many black boots.

But we are masters.
Already weaving galactic threads.
Newborn planets dangle on the vine.
Raw and squealing.
Juicy harmonies melting into the mouth of the infinite.