Giving Way

A poem By: 

There are moments when
gold is hard to find.
About as likely, in fact, as finding
a needle in a haystack.

There are moments when
you are left, it seems,
to weave
gold out of straw.

There are moments when
you know nothing.

And then, and then, and then
you catch a glimmer,
like a shimmer of a kingfisher
across a lake in the late afternoon sun.

And then you know
there is something coming,
like a promise.
A pledge.

And then, thankful heart, you listen,
alert to the soft murmur of a whisper.
The echo from a conversation
giving way to the shape of something new.