Potential (Poetry)

This paper holds the promised shapes
of poems I haven’t written yet
shadows of thoughts nearly formed
hovering over the lines
much as a mist hangs
barely inches above a lawn
almost touching the patient grass
while a solemn silence stretches
waiting to be filled
with something — anything
to mark a new beginning.

The sheet remains empty and aching
but feels the words are coming —
like a train in the far distance
eating the miles and minutes between
closing the gap
hauling memory’s ghosts
down a long narrow track
’til they’re suddenly there
all talking at once
spilt out on the page
and finding a space
                                to b r e a t h e ...