It Grows

This isn't a poem, but I have to compose this way tonight.

The list of things I want to do and places I want to visit grows longer.

Except now it feels less wishful and more do-full.

There is light starting to creep in where the wall meets the floor,
Under the doorways up ahead.
I see it.

There's this feeling of becoming,
By coming closer to what I'm meant for.

It's a hazy dream image,
But I can see it
through these kaleidoscope lenses.

Like the fulfillment of a promise
of a destiny
like the end of a complicated snarl of gears and catches
that moves with Rube Goldberg precision

and little marble me
will drop right into your hand.