Waiting is made for centuries

Insignificant syllable

in a buried history,

lost note in a forgotten symphony,

hard tear shed by defeat

that goes unlamented,

I of lamp-lighting

and story telling,

endless walks that led to abrupt ending,

I of a street lamp and a firefly

nondescript and sterile,

blues and silvers that made up dreams

and a night filled encounter-certainty,

waiting

waiting

for a ghost ship and a swallow

that reads out the weather.

Will it rain tomorrow, tell me

will there be starlight and amber,

the settlement of dew?

And will there come in a vial or in an envelope

the dust that erased my footprint from her heart?

[From the collection 'Threads,' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]

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