The Waiting

Nocturne 2

Nocturne 2 Benched craze of the wool heart, pulse in the leg reminiscent, rescued. My urgent miscellaneous to do is the kite sweeping our heads is the waiting shoulder. How long has the lake shimmered in touch, finds itself missing while I cover my territory, returning the gifts one by one, flowers on tightrope in place. Again for you I wait, a fault line. Stepping into the emergency like lightning-struck child, the list so long our bodies cannot stretch & make do. I can only catch an honest eye temporarily, the sand lapping rocks which you name. The blue photograph I trace to the sun & the mist you wear worn only by me is a lingering held breath the fragrance of fear which is home. [ 59 ...