Like the Veins on the Back of a Leaf

What’s next is what we want, why we think.
It’s the craft of brains, minds, guts, and math.
It’s the grift of the sage and the priest.

Who wants to know the world for the world?
We sift through it all in search of signs
Of what comes for us, of what we’ll find.

There is no next. There’s whoops, well, that’s that.
But that can’t stop our game of the guess,
Of the dread we can’t get off our chests.

Gods help us guess. Thrown bones, prayers, and tea.
Facts guess the best, pasts flipped we can trace,
Like the veins on the back of a leaf.