I Wait

Patiently.  Snow falls like
leaves, a pattern, a prediction,
a memory.  Snow banks are
a visit to what I saw so many
years ago, a different person,
a different history.  Do you
remember coal tumbling into
basements, tar like gum
bubbling on summer streets,
the dancing, the dancing time
of death and dreams?  A
pattern is woven, a thread is
carefully placed like charcoal
on a snowman’s face, when
you drive the choice between
sorrow and a smile.  Oh, we
think of time tumbling out
of our hands like air, or water,
like something so insubstantial
that not even the vacuum
between now and then can
contain it, but time is nothing
more than a reservoir for
our dreams.  What if, if only,
when the day arrives, I can
so clearly see my body dancing
in the heart of life’s maelstrom.