I cup my hand, hold it up to see my awkward reflection
in a child’s snow globe, makeshift crystal ball.

Peering there, I focus these hocus-pocus wishes and charms,
chant spells of fortune to no avail.

My future swirls in a hundred thousand indecipherable
specks that tell me nothing of what’s coming.

In time, I give up predilection for prediction and plow
headlong toward tomorrow. Fin’lly I slow,

Breathe in blessed beauty and pluck particles of promise
from wide sky unconfined by tiny globe.

Raising eyes to trace golden sun’s descent, I give thanks again.
I wonder what the future saw in me?