What is so utterly invisible br as tomorrow? br Not love, br not the wind, br br not the inside of a stone. br Not anything. br And yet, how often I'm fooled-- br I'm wading along br br in the sunlight-- br and I'm sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining br days ahead-- br I can see the light spilling br br like a shower of meteors br into next week's trees, br and I plan to be there soon-- br and, so far, I am br br just that lucky, br my legs splashing br over the edge of darkness, br my heart on fire. br br I don't know where br such certainty comes from-- br the brave flesh br or the theater of the mind-- br br but if I had to guess br I would say that only br what the soul is supposed to be br could send us forth br br with such cheer br as even the leaf must wear br as it unfurls br its fragrant body, and shines br br against the hard possibility of stoppage-- br which, day after day, br before such brisk, corpuscular belief, br shudders, and gives way.