So many nights like every other, yet
practice can’t produce planned outcomes.
If only Schroedinger’s cat really were simultaneously in
two states. If only night came with beacons
filtered to spotlight the suddenness of
entropy, the pattern of dust drawing down the
rugged road behind us settling in ways that
reveal our rush toward destiny
measured in intensity and the level to
which we’re generally unprepared. The stories
we tell to avoid truths all too present to
be imagined away don’t come close
to the loss we feel when caught in inevitable outcomes
yet to be determined.
R.M. Dolin, 2019
