After the Sonogram
       

Within you, now, a shadow feeds
On everything you are, and do.
Now every action scatters seeds
Across the future's fields, where you

Will watch what isn't, come to be.
The way the shadows of a field
Rise up at night, triumphantly,
And all the stuff of day's concealed,

Consumed, the hidden thing that is
Unbeing now will flourish soon,
And rustle wind-shook promises
Of goodness to a ghostly moon.

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Copyright © 2017 Ryan Wilson All rights reserved
from The Stranger World
Measure Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission