Ode to waiting things

There must be a tree

skyline-blotting and majestic

rich in black and green 

severally armed 

to catch and clutch

passing memories 

and abandoned sweet-nothings;

there must be a sudden flower

or an ice-cold pebble 

on a path leased to an eternal noontime;

there must be a single note

evicted from music score 

wandering from wall to wall

weeping its banishment;

there must be things 

that await recognition 

and love.