Mom used to tell me not to listen into conversations: 

to preoccupy not on the whisperings of gossip 

but a projection of my own future. 

But when that horizon is splayed, 

its beautiful amber glow emanating in

light beams that traverse the space time continuum.

An ominous pulsing.

The undulations of future happiness. 

All wavering

in that unanswered question.

I see a color that is not quite yellow, 

but also not quite red. 

Uncertainty, 

or perhaps ambivalence 

splashed in that fluorescent hue. 

A teasing glow that entices. 

For we do not know what is beyond that horizon, 

only that its curvature is where we are not. 

And were it to end in a precipice…?

I try to ignore the two ladies sitting in front of me. 

Shotgun is lamenting a tale of… 

Divorce? 

Mid life crisis?

My headphones.

I turn the volume up,

but all I hear is Kanye 

as All of the Lights expounds the same story in a different language.  

Expounds that we will journey past that horizon, 

push that fiery curtain aside, 

and either spring gracefully into lush grasslands, 

or plunge 

from jagged rocks into frigid waters.