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The hour came
when time was repealed.

We threw a switch, and
the eye of God
became lidless.

We thought we would see,
really see at last.

We skipped over years
like stones
in all directions.

We took in the slow yawn
of life
in great, snatching gasps.

We no longer saw progress
as we had once seen it;
straight lines became
great, arcing spirals
swimming, diving
in ever evolving
complexity.

And yet—

we always arrived
in the same place
that we started.

So remember,
the hour will come
when time will be repealed.

When we throw the switch,

I need you
to understand—

when I choose to love you,
it is not in the flush
of one moment
but all of them,

feeding back into
themselves
in endless, looping promise,

until it is as certain
as the flowing script
of everything. See,

really see

that you are loved
and will be, and were

from the instant
we met—

when the sky
rolled back like a scroll
to kiss your sweet
eternal eyelids.



Duke Kimball likes to wear hats.  He has been a mediocre scholar of religion, a Hawaiian shirt enthusiast, and a sleazy used car salesman.  He currently sells spare parts for X-Ray machines and drinks altogether too much coffee.  Duke and his wife Michelle live in Lansing, MI.  He keeps a website at dukekimball.com.
Current Issue
18 Mar 2024

Strange Horizons
We are very happy to welcome Dante Luiz as a new fiction editor on the team! Dante is a Ignyte Award winning author, and has been with Strange Horizons working as an Art Director for the past several years. We’re stoked to bring him on to the fiction side and have him bring his wonderful insight and skill to the fiction team.
Day in and day out, the rough waters of the Pacific slam themselves against the protrusion of sandstone the locals refer to as Morro Rock. White streaks of bird shit bleed down the rock, a testament to the rare birds of prey that nest in its pocked face overlooking the bay.
in my defence, juggling biological and artificial, i tripped over my shoelace, and spilled my lungs empty of the innocence that was, before guilt.
the birds, / who carry with them / the many names of the dead
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