Before Through Comes Right

Before through comes right,
the waiting is an art-form—
sitting easily behind a veil,
not lifting up, or seeing right through it,
before learning if the through is right.

A seed takes root in darkness.
Bread rises under its cloth.
A photograph appears by disappearing.
Dawn rehearses under the horizon.
Stars arrive carrying their old news.

There are seasons within reasons.
Blues borrow from clouds.
Blinks clutter sight.
Rests delay them notes.
Silence counts in drips.
Shadow puppets wait for fire to remember the candle.

They all refuse to see through.
Lest they become yesterday's shoes.

Leaving part of the journey, 
beyond the destination,
leaves a question....
still in need of asking....
Who will happenstance tap next,
for the next dance with chance?

Not every veil hides.
Some are gestating.
Some are weaving.
Only the loom remembers,
what the threads have forgotten.

Every veil has two sides.
Every horizon keeps one view
well aside for later on.

The journey arrives first.
The destination catches up later,
Leaving just enough time
for the ending to become itself,
when through, comes on right through,
when through, comes on right through!