Our future is nesting in our
yesterdays and in every pathway
winding to today, winding to everyday.

Future seconds are nesting in each
newest now, falling, like sand, through time’s
narrow hasty hourglass into our increasing past.

While we, like tiny unhatched birds
await our fleeting shells to fall away
till we can hear and see beyond
those safe yet darkened embryo walls
where all things partial reside
until free and with the whole abide,

where small wings venture
to the skies and soar beyond a
fading sunset to amazing sunrise.

Is our future a what, a when,
or a how – before which our past
must depart and bow?

Can things we have long desired
and only seemingly known escort us
to future’s home?

Perhaps for some the future lies
hidden in a maze of relentless queries,
or in journeys or in fields of unharvested doubts.

Yet, none of these contain the future
for me, since I met a Man from Galilee
who speaks of resurrection and life

and of a Kingdom already in our midst;
where all passing time observes a 
Sabbath Rest,

where the arms of a Heavenly Father await us,
prepare a place for us, our future’s unchanging address,
where: in the next breath after death we’ll gasp!
and breathe immortal air.