The man moves through traffic floating,
seemingly apart from the stream.
Around, so many stand and watch.
All colors, all genders, hazy like a dream.
He recognizes a few faces, some from his
preexisting life, each a connective link,
like the woman sitting next to him, grinning,
dressed in pink.
He smiles, she waves. Brushing the sunlight
from his face, he does not know;
that the history of the future finds in this moment
the lowest of the low.
And in a mist of red
erupting from his head,
the epoch moves from
one of hope