The Waiting

When the night drains

Long and the morning

Distant, when the

Twilight loses its call.

In the full flush

Pull of the dark's

Plain lust and the

Wish that it all

Could be full.

There I sit and I

Wait and I watch

For the sign that

It comes if it does

When it will.

But not yet, for those

Clouds on the horizon

They still build and the

Storm is some way

Far off still.

It is tiring all the

Waiting the great giving

Of my gifts and my

Charge of my will

Of my living

And still showing for the

Living that is doing

For a being that is

Wanting and is longing

For release.

It drags on, so I guess

'Til I'm ready I presume

Until the ripeness 

Rich risen in your cheeks.

Then ye turn,

Ye shall turn,

Shall turn about and 

Ye shall face me,

Ye shall turn and shall say

My name 

And I shall fall.

Into the storm into the

Tumult into the

Tumbling 

Rumbling wondrous.

And there

Shall be stripped bare

All my leaves blown

Hither into yonder.