Life is this
holding a child
or sand or my hand
the way goes for a while
like a smudge of pigment on the brow

Life is definitely not this
more than holding a child
taking a hand
the way goes nowhere
you trace my colours and I lean to you

Life is an
extraterrestrial warrior
she derails our neon impatience
between streetcar stops
she shakes her broad steps on air
limbs woven knitted stretched
in every colony and colour
she sees in
a face
the universe

Life forges like this
an easement
in paint or serviette or resin or word
the way is in
so close
to the others

-unknown

-

adumbrate 

(n.) foreshadow (a future event).