by Kerry A. Wiley
It comes the way certain dreams do,
already in motion,
a road that feels known
without ever being seen.
The outline holds,
as if something ahead
has already happened,
and is waiting.
A frame in the distance,
not finished, but near.
The shape clears.
A promise forming,
already kept.
Half built from hope,
half already real.
Not a thought
that flickers through,
Still water,
holding the shape of the sky.
Then a spark.
Ahead
in the light.
It comes the way certain dreams do,
motion stilled,
a road once imagined,
now seen.
The outline holds.
Nothing ahead
remains to reach,
nothing left between.
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