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

to dread.

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