You’d Live Longer in the Past

The future is a window,
And the mind is a housefly
Confused on the windowsill.

You can see something. You can
Get close again and again,
So close you’re stunned and fall back,

So close you’re chummy with it
And can stroll along the width
Of the smooth invisible,

But you can’t get through. You can’t
Taste or touch that future air.
You buzz your wings in the dust.