a poem about waiting
I live from deja vu to deja vu these days, waiting
like leaves wait, turning their silvered
underbellies to the storm wind.
I’ve made sure nothing is left behind,
Cleared out all the debris, returned
unopened all the letters.
I don’t even hold onto the broken sparkle
of downtown neon dancing like fountains
under the curved spine of stars anymore.
I’m just waiting for whatever connections
the nerves will network out of what remains,
waiting like chipped diamonds wait
for the fractured light to heal whole again.
__________
Copyright 2007 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
