what's to come
Say, for a moment, you gave yourself the luxury of floating your mind's
eye to the next chapter of your story. I know, you are still thick in the present tense,
married - for richer or poorer - to these pages. Or else you were told that what matters
is the now you're standing in, and you're a fool to take a stab before the hows and whens
announce themselves. But today, suspend the disbelief of your own wizardry. Imagine
words like roots not yet been planted, the sentences noodly and pliant.
Picture yourself in that ungardened garden,
the soil dark and porous, that loamy scent of what's to come not a defiant
question mark to shrink from but a light to lean against. How the tint and shade
begins to shape this vague new world your heart's already made.