Waiting

 

How to learn to no longer fear
The long waiting,
The drowsy drifting days –

The days of walking deep
In smoky bluebell woods,
No path nor destination
In mind. I float, somnubulent
As bloated dragonflies on the breath
Of the sleeping earth, as insects
Trapped in merciless gossamer rainbows.

The sun has poured down amber
From the skies, sticky and sweet
As honey. It weighs my wings down,
Encases my limbs, cradles my flailing self
In its limpid embrace. I stand suspended,
Open-mouthed and silent, begging for release
From this everlasting bronze.

How to trust that the wind
Will rise again, wreasting
Slumbering seeds from the trees.
Startled insects scatter upwards,
Ink-dots in the blue-bright sky.

 

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