Observe

how she stands

at the end

of the stone pier,

where earth’s bones

drop away

to the village below;

how she stares

over peaked rooftops,

each a crooked half-step

to the prowling,

lapping

sea.

Eager,

near delirious

with anticipation,

she nonetheless remains –

hands clasped to sternum –

motionless.

Unmoving,

but for her gaze,

which sweeps and

scrapes the horizon

back and forth,

like gull or

tern.

Anxious and waiting.

Impatient and

waiting.

But…

but…

When they come –

those ancient,

sinuous creatures,

luminously scaled and

leather-winged –

when they cross

the dusking sky,

churning clouds and

evoking thunder

with their passage…

Understand –

despite her earnest,

enraptured desire,

it will not be

for her.

They will not come

for her nor answer

her call.

Understand –

watching,

a pace behind and

over her right

shoulder…

Understand –

with unshakable clarity,

with neither fear

nor doubt –

for whom it is

they will

come.

 

 

— C.Birde, 6/19