Patience

water above, sky below

Montreal Sunrise, 27 January 2025 -- photos by the poet

Waiting for the sun to rise,
waiting for the ice to melt,
I look into my mistress’ eyes,
the winning hand I’ve been dealt,
and consider all my lies
and all the truth that I have felt.

Standing here out in the cold,
my bones ache to have to wait
for things that have been foretold
like free will and the chance of fate,
like the train or getting old,
like the sunrise or love and hate.

Wait I do and wait I will
for my print job at the shop,
for time to come, time to kill,
time to climb aboard, time to hop,
time to run right up the hill
to count my heartbeats till they stop.

When they do, what will I be?
You wait for me, I for you,
but in the end are we free
or are we merely black and blue,
blissful in our misery
as the sun rises right on cue?

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