Breakthrough

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe like fresh bread, carefully mixed and molded and baked until golden.

“Your breakthrough is coming”

 But maybe the way my hair dries: first the ends, then the sides, then the back, then the crown.

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe like a song that demands each note played, beat timed, and lyric uttered to tell its story. 

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe like the pieces of a puzzle, shuffled around over passing perusing and concentrated hours til their meandering-edged homes are found.

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe like the tide, receding by inches into the deep through the night,

then wading back up the shore by morning.

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe the way the leaves fall, earning their sienna and amber before leaning into the wind one at a time, following each other into mounds of nature's confetti.

"Your breakthrough is coming"

But maybe like the January snow turning to water in the spring. Flakes that piled silently while the mercury lay low, easing into droplets when it reaches 40 and dispersing between the blades of grass that'll glow green by Easter.

“Your breakthrough is coming”

But maybe like a flower. A speck that splits to extend its roots and lure nourishment from the loam, nudging a sprout above the surface to touch the light. It warms and ripens its color with every rise, set, and rain, before unfurling the fruit of its undertaking.

“Your breakthrough is coming"

maybe not in a single moment, but many.