Wait

When summer looked late,
its golden flag unfurled,
I found I’d lost my eyes;
I found I’d lost my words.

Close the door,
open the windows
and let it steal
across your sleeping form —
wait for waking to take.

And it is here,
somewhere —
that secret we keep.
But it won’t come easy.

We dream deprivation’s retreat.
And it will come,
so we place our bets —
even knowing how long
it takes to turn.

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About Emily

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

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