You saw her for the first time at your front door, like she wanted to sell you something or convert you. She had light hair and dark eyes, and she was wearing fatigues, which was the only way you knew that your panicked prayers of the last few minutes had not come true. “Don’t freak out,” she said. “I’m you. From—uh, let’s just say from the future. Can I come inside?”

Time will not return to you as it was.

The verdant hills they whispered of this man so apt to sin / chimney smoke was pure as mountain snow compared to him.