Everything will be different in ten years.
The trees will be taller, the sky darker,
crisper, lit by just the moon and some stars.
Geography is something we measure
from the inside: a rolling mountain range,
a narrow ravine cut by a river
now vanished, diverted to the life you
left behind. Are leaving behind. Outside
the jagged rumble of morning traffic,
but now a path emerges like dry stones
in an anxious stream. Off balance, you reach
for a branch on the other shore. The night
is crisper. Everything will be different.
In ten years everything will be different.