I have waited for you a long time, my reader -
seated at my desk in an empty room,
peering shyly through the slatted blinds
or pressing quarters one by one
into a ticking meter-
carefully bending, crafting lines.
I have sat while rain fell
like rhymes to the pavement -
wondering whether time might find
an answer to my bereavement:
cast off, folded, draped over a spindly chair-
If one day I might look and see you there,
a portrait only, framed in the doorway,
and holding my work in your hands.
- 10/29/08
Advertisement
