You’re not the first one to really see it, you know.
Nor the first to feel a meaning —
a presence beyond yourself —
when it slips through the bevy
drifting before its face.
You’re not the first to feel the transfer
that comes between the wisps,
and hits you up top
before coursing the spiderwebs,
out your fingertips.
No, you don’t get that claim.
Or being the first to know what to do
or the first to climb a mountain.
And certainly not the first to put yourself
in a position to succeed.