Through a telescope looking onto the past,
A child laughs,
Bathing with his brethren in the open sun.
Through that same telescope pointed to the near future,
The child withers,
Swaddled with his mother at home.
In the far future,
The child and friends stand crouched and waiting,
Wondering with the rest of us:
Will this moment be, or won’t it?
Jackson Holzberg Buckley 