I follow the sun and moon in their courses day after night after day and
waiting grows on me like a thick moss. And so, I write...

On Waiting

To wait is to cling to hope
In the way a jewelled drop
Of water clings to a dewy leaf:
Wishing that gravity would stop
Its pull downward, inward, toward
That heavy centre of mass
Where all things must go;
To seek in that tangled morass
Of all possible outcomes
Called the Future a bright bit
Of some recognizable Dream,
And believe that you can catch it.

Yet your life goes on about you
As you wait for her to see
That the slender, green hope you cling to
Is for no one else but she.


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Lupar, in the year 396 AF.