Faint Glow

This may not work. The odds are long.
I cross my fingers and hold my breath,
but that guarantees the future about as
well as a teaspoon captures a roaring
river – or a tranquil one, for that matter.
For that matter, the teaspoon is better
suited, since it will catch something,
certainly. But nothing is certain about
the future. Not one thing is known. It
eludes, escapes, even as it leads us on.
It shrouds itself in fog, mist, mystery.
It does not submit to machination. It
asks us to give it a minute, let our eyes
adjust to the dark, follow its faint glow.