A Dream Passed Of Future Presence

She shot the bucket  

With her double-barrel musket

I witness as her grudge stands up,  

That charcoal smudge in my blood.  

She says she hasn't had enough;  

Chucks her spear in two directions.  

A problem's cascade with no correction.

The shadow pierces

But the rest defected; 

To protect, it veered clear 

From targets directed.  

Her mercy is passive

Her fury, aggressive - 

And savage.

What can't be fully understood,  

Is why the rancid fruit

Around her bitter roots  

Taste so good.  

And why the buds

Of her saccharine leaves  

Are not worth the reach.

So it ain't just age

Which cricks our necks,  

But what we send

Our gaze to catch.