On the Far Side of Almost Hope

Horizon holds hope
tomorrow, crowds out the scene
clouds rehearse elsewhere—
sunshine has packed for the road
leaving warm coats on the hook.

The mirage shimmers
beckoning us nearer still
distance swallows steps
closer is, further away
the mirage has played its game.

Footprints trace failure
back to where old hope began
mud obscures the route
the horizon keeps its word—
always staying over there.

Evening inspects shoes
muddles, each odd pair—
the map folds itself
learns to leave the porch light on
for what was never coming.

Evening shuts up shop
footprints wander back, alone
the horizon stays
still selling tomorrow's light
to those who come to its stall.