A shiny coin might be a distraction to blackbirds and blackbirds might be small dots to airplanes
empty seats on airplanes might be lesser stories in airports, but this is
what makes waiting, waiting.
A stranger says to me, the idea
of a perfect waiting is to forget
that you're waiting but I disagree.
Like in airports, seats are there for
the emptiness between moments
but you're not sure if the waitee
is the blackbird and the seats
are the shining distractions.
It could go both sides, as you are lost
in the murmurs uttered by nearby
strangers and their thick accents
and wonder why voices stay in your
head like imprints even if you
only heard them once. Detail lingers
because you wait, for what exactly,
who knows but, the glint in the road
signals the crow that the waiting time
is over.
It will swoop down from the wire, first-mate of the vulture.
We can only taste the moments
when they are ripe, or if they fall
to the ground. Gravity only meant what it means after Newton's apple
fell from the tree, so maybe the voices
of the passengers behind me
are the shining distractions
I have been waiting, or vice versa,
for it could go both sides. I have been
tamed by crows and vultures,
so I wait in the real essence of waiting,
the details glint and shimmer.
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
