outside the gray clouds
hide the blue sky and sun
but not the sun’s light which
though diffuse
works its way past them
to the Earth below
the greens of the trees
and bushes are all still
waiting
waiting for what isn’t certain
waiting for who, perhaps?
inside I sit
a gray funk wrapped around me
obscuring the light that
you provide for me
obscuring it, but not blocking it
completely out
and your warmth, reaches me
reaches me as I sit here
still in the room
looking out the window
seeing the tableau before me
waiting
waiting for something very certain
waiting for your return
©2009-Art Belliveau
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