A Day Will Come

Child,
step down from your hills.

The day will come when sunlight defers
to the shadow it births and years,
having dressed in the woolen wraps of our fathers,
shuffle their way to the table.

The wheel turns—
the engine of this world binds us to its arrow,
sweeping in its orbit,
steady the dreaded purity of that line.

The narrowing day will not so late arrive
when leather lords over vine and limb,
when stars dim their storied lights,
and darker skies portend only weather.

Do not endeavor to haste for those heavens
for I see a poem that lingers in your eye
and I so dearly wish to recite it.