I sit here and wait for the next moment,
Missing the breeze in my hair
Blind to the light of the moon.
The butterflies are internal,
Flying quietly cloaked in anticipation.
I listen to what will be but
Words colored by the visions in the mind,
And the graphite of a pencil
Moves along the blank page.
Until I give an invisible nod
To the fullness that is the moon,
And sit down within the gliding of the writing utensil.
The future is on its way
And it flows out of the single dot
The depth of which is unknown
Still, now, and forever
