In a perpetual state of waiting;
Caught in some moment of anticipation,
As if I were
Careening on the edge of a pit,
Or turning the lock on some threshold,
Sprawled out and gasping on eternity's desktop.
Nonetheless,
Waiting.
Holding a voluntary breath,
And commanding God's air to yield
To me and my benighted demands.
Waiting for all of these foreign faces to seem familiar.
Waiting for the influx.
Whatever it takes,
Wherever it takes me.