The goal worked towards
not part of the game
won't ring the doorbell
with the house all aflame.

It's grasped by the mind 
not held in the hand;
a passing cloud over
a parched land.

A sleeping infant;
a tree unobserved;
a lost symphony
every note preserved.

Close as a whisper
in a waiting ear
when only the dead 
can wait one more year.