four years from now, I’ve grown my hair out
got two or three tattoos up my sleeve
Utah, the red rock, arm bears a wind sculpted art piece
Wyoming, mountains so sharp they cut the sky in smithereens of blue stained glass
I saw the future. yes, and you were in it

four years from now, I drive across a northern tier
working seasonal, removing all the invaders from across the ocean
I am a superhero, and the Lake is my endangered New York City
I write love poems to Lake Huron every day
how I want him to flourish, his water clear, his breath fresh and clean
I write long sappy essay about the future, life along the water

and then on a long haul across the northwest and back
our eyes meet inside a coffee shop
I still hate the way coffee tastes, I was only here for the smells but look
look who I found even more beautiful and sophisticated than before

and I tell you how I got published, how I’m applying to go back to school
I hear about your summers in Yellowstone, how much you are learning
I soak it all in, and when I ask if you have a girlfriend, you say no
but before I can let out my four-year sigh of relief
before I can breathe
you say you’re getting married

flash back to the present, to the real universe
I sit alone in the back of the library
finishing my second year at university
and we have plans to get burritos together on Wednesday
I know I sound insane, but I saw the future
yes, I saw Utah, Wyoming. I saw the Lake
and knee deep with khaki pants rolled up, you were in it