All the world is then transfixed in dense light,
casting shadows onto the world left behind,
outfoxed and dated by history proceeding
at an increasing rate. Possibility opens
onto a path that seems predestined but no
more or less dangerous and beautiful
than a thousand different decisions prevously
considered and cast aside as rote.
Trusted faith in the next step binds
the foot to the future, the imprint
to the past (now a relic, uncertain and disused)
once thought of as the goal but only a way
point, a place to rest before the bolt
into the unknown: rockets firing, fuel expended
with no certain way back to home.
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