(It won’t be long, now. I know.)
And you arrive, quietly,
in the guise of sonnets in little books,
in the comforting looks of friends
in my dreams at night.
Please do not pass me by, oh,
I will be the dust waiting in the crevice
of the ancient rock.
Come, gentle wind, or violent storm–
while my heart informs mind
that you cannot long be ignored.