Where land thins into water,
the ground gives way without warning.
Sand slipping underfoot.
Forms never quite hold—
they soften and shift
before they settle.
Time moves differently,
not slower or faster,
just less certain.
Moments hover in place,
as if undecided,
unsure whether to continue
or remain.
Then, a break.
A sound enters.
A voice not yet shaped by consequence,
arriving without hesitation,
carrying a quiet certainty—
that something is about to happen,
that it will be seen.
Beginnings
A poem by Kerry A. Wiley
At the edge
where the ground forgets its shape,
a body waits
for something that does not arrive—
not silence,
only the absence of interruption,
light resting on water
without asking why,
until a sound breaks.
A child’s voice—
not memory, not dream.
A hand reaching
for another.
“Watch this.”
A stone lifted like proof,
thrown wrong,
gone at once,
missing
never meaning loss.
Two beginnings touch.
A life unfolds
without knowledge of after,
everything moving forward
as if forward were guaranteed.
Running footsteps,
already leaving.
Footsteps rushing back—
“Look, look what was found.”
Arms closing
around something living.
Two points meet.
A name
spoken out loud.
Where ground surrendered to water,
footing failed without notice.
Sand slipped beneath each step,
the ground shifting as it formed.
Time refused to settle
in any clear direction.
