I feel half-formed and unready,
a catalyst with no trigger,
a long-dormant volcano
uncertainly building up to
its next explosion of life.
Like all my potential is waiting
behind a door ajar,
offering a backlit glimpse
of something not yet reachable.
I have the will, the desire, the motive.
But that ever elusive final ingredient,
the key to unlocking my deepest self,
still zigzags around, skipping over knuckles,
dancing across magma
and ignoring my outstretched fingertips.