Thursday, March 31, 2011

I've counted bricks upon bricks
measuring a finger's width between.

The house is still
fogged in place; I am standing
at the doorstep with the key
because you have yet to arrive.

And how long
before your intended arrival
or my departure, when
what is thrown open shall be shut tight--
you never confirmed,
yet I still suspect your pace
across vales
and veils of snow.