WAITING

I knew August was coming and that he may very well have been a saint
Just like he said.
So I looked for my drink and thought I would ask
How's the sky?

Sad, how the silence so queer
He wouldn't tell me.
Of course I couldn't see that far
But still I would jump and jump and jump.

Luscious color of the handcarved headboard,
His hair, the dark china cabinet, his hair.
Pushing dust around I did wonder.

But I was so careful!
That pitcher was hand-painted a lifetime away.
Nothing was broken but I
Had trouble with hugs anyway.
I would have liked to want him.