:::poetry
In waiting, I will wait
Dynamic mind of the divine, a thousand fantasies to satisfy my spirit's eye
I will be shy this time and lie
In waiting

a sabbath overstayed, my fingers tremble for the wooden shovel
I wrap up the weathered handle, long once more to be the earth's dear lover

Thirsty for an object of affection
I'll not be quenched by predilection
Nor lend the fates my sledge to crush me by selection
Lucid daydreams of unwitting love are romance' mutinous insurrection

Mind encumbered,
Go to hell and leave me to my slumber
Or the poet's charming tortion of a number
Or the glamour of a craftsman's knotty lumber

This is my trowel,
There are many like it but it is this one, my destiny
The fieldstone quakes beneath the harmony, so will be
Two sculptors, their sculptor sculpting
Twisting subjects of the darling entropy
Find my sea legs in this liminality
For once I simply am then we will be,

In waiting.
:::