now. It’s sitting on
my brow. It’s built its nest
upon my hair. And baby lines are
hatching there among the bangs
which hang like curtains,
for nothing is certain. I pour a drink
and I sink into this chair in great
despair over you,
ah another line or two
I release –
Only to increase the depth
of its weight
And Oh! it makes me wait
And wait
And wait
And wait