Sunday, 21 April 2013

20. Waiting

There is nothing I can do
but wait—trees will hiccup green

again from brown brittle throats,
waltzers will whirl and whoopee, and we

will remember the holy goof,
the guffaw.

I will wait out this, the dark
that crisps and curls,

burnt paper corners
in the embers of fire.

I have nothing but
holding out for happiness,

as sweet and as sharp as
the first asparagus spear.

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