when you are waiting
as passive as the glass you drink from
calcined, corralled
into your adequate shape

stand,
skin of your temples limned
by fluorescent,
until your legs ache
and while you are waiting
biding your time until they lift their heads

every disparate form you've taken

sends off their own light
a wild sunbeam toward each coast
broad, bolder-*****
your spine the rock entrenched here, there, wherever

those loafers become one with the floor
melt into it, you
the offshoot of spit
from a rallying cry;
the last good drop of Pentecost
pooling into the terrazzo

a feeling I can't name

as he exits, excellently;
as the ball rolls
and the moon hugs the tide

hand
hesitantly on the helve

the wonderment,
the idiot

who he's exchanged a few words with

from behind the dotted line
that I envision

the upswing of human fear
and tending to be naked in it

if one thing
if it was all my heart had really thought for,
aside from to be useful, in my adult years

do I get, also, for it to end well?

the way envisioned
to climb over the dotted line

the wonderment
at him
the idiot sits
twiddles her thumbs

sinks in and in

I must be a child
waiting to be pulled to the air

if it will never feel quite right to want
I'll wait until I am wanted

and if the moment never comes,

The silence causing peace
A whispering chill breeze
Moist in the refreshing air
Causing comfort setting a mood
Voices go quiet in the moment
Pain eases up able to relax
Escaped the worries feeling free
Connecting within feels right
Able to rest over night sleep tight