You come back from the future
as if it were the normal thing to do,
with a cheery wave,
breaking up pieces of the past,
tangling with my emotions
Being a rational kind of guy,
like Rembrandt,
I can see how the lines work,
making shadows,
creating a room full of pictures
and women talking
but I have a gut feeling
about the way things are going
– cause and effect –
and I can’t avoid the conclusion that it’s your fault,
though that kind of chaos
is hard to pin down
In the end,
or the beginning,
there are grandchildren
I don’t know exactly where they started
or where they will finish,
and whether I should warn them about the future
and women with red lipstick,
or simply reassure them
about the love of God
which is more than a gut feeling
a wave from the future
or a room full of pictures,
however magical