Waiting for the Light

And here, again, we await
The elusive coil burning
With the turning of the wheel.
Now orange, now blue
With heat of shuddered thought.
Do not touch it.
It is not to reach toward.
But wait.
It will come,
With the gear oiled then shifted
Up to winging speed,
Let the noise and rush of the other recede.
Release into the automatic.
It will find you
If you let it.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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