Stepping Stones

the nail breaks. the hair is split. derelict prepositions poison the sentence. diluted villains belittle the champion. close to the edge. closer still to gravity. she rarely remembers the fall. it's the landing that sticks.

the monkey pushes its stick into the hole. confident in the victimology of circumstance. a cascade of effect storms down. in tight little fists of how. if the sky were closer. I wouldn't have to reach so far. if the Earth only spun a little bit slower I could make some progress.

the moment thumps on the book. a stoic drum pushing the journey forward even as I stumbled back again. little bows in the storm of her hair play like raindrops on the glass in her cheeks. frantically lost in the wake of their own momentum.

touching the curtain she feels the mere millimeters between then and now. progress. parasites on her tongue peddle their silence. while she waits on the words that never come.

tiny footprints in big puddles of cement. a vague promise of permanence. wet maps. bring her closer. all paths bleeding into one.