So many nights meld into others
yet, planned outcomes remain elusive.
If only Schroedinger’s cat really were
in two states, then perhaps,
night would come with beacons
filtered to spotlight
the suddenness of entropy
and patterns of dust drawing
down the rugged road behind,
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
avoid truths all too present
to be imagined away
and don’t come close
to the loss we feel when
caught in inevitable outcomes
yet to be determined.
R.M. Dolin, 2019
