First it’s wonder. Then wish. Then grief at dashed wishes. Then desire persists. Then a whiff of will. Then a vision coexisting with  resistance. Then the germ and its season.  Then the bravado of a goal but you call it a promise with the learning of a navigator. A cement is forming. It’s overcast.  It’ll come. My feet shodded. Please deflate all heroics facing the void that is futurity. Maybe even deny the common stamping of proof that is simplicity.  Go out in the dark or at least be invisible.  The act of the Act is monolith. Move away and now is the space of stretched space.  Breathe a sigh of relief or post exertion.  Go home.