blue, the recessive gene

i wonder if

the last future seer

saw that there would

be no future for her

profession and if

she told anyone

or convinced herself

that it was the machine

or last night’s sleep

or just maybe she was

wrong this time

*

today

followed from

all the other todays

is leading to

the today of tomorrow

with no sorrow

no happiness

no promise

just a day that

is tied to all

like a carnivorous worm

hoping for rain

that washs this dirt

and darkness

*

iris’s swim

stretching to freckles

unconnected save for a face

full of days and summers

that tell of soaking sun and

towels that haven’t dried yet

and this moment

where i am too late

for she has floated away

to other sights