We're all waiting
for the whirlwind.
Walking,
head down,
through the driving rain,
hoping the wind
will change
so we can lift
our heads
and give thanks again.
The sun
beats down,
breaking skin
to cracks,
minds to delirium.
Through the waving
shimmers
of cast back radiance
we still look up
and think
to put words
through lips too dry
to part,
words wishing
to properly express
the beauty
that defeats us.
The moon
torments us.
The stars play
audience,
bearing witness
to our silent shutters,
our sideways glances,
our secreted away
fears,
clawing to break forth
and commune
with their common light.
We retreat
and huddle beneath
whatever cover
we may find,
waiting for dawn
to break
the shared embrace
that threatens
to break
us.
We're all waiting
for the whirlwind
to turn us back,
or back to forward,
or just to spin us
once, twice,
until the now
seems like change;
we're all waiting
to see
the change in now,
see the change
through driving rain,
looking up
sun beaten
from sun scorched earth,
from the moon lit
night
we flee.
We're all waiting,
for change.
Waiting.