consonantberry

Almost There

In Poetry on April 11, 2012 at 4:48 pm

Envy for the days when wait
On you my becoming won’t
Be ahead but at hand
At heart at being.

But it’s the waiting steals
The hand from grasping
Only approximating
Touch in a not
Quite finger
Brush

And it’s the envy holds
The being an always
Fingertip away
From having
Reached.

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