At peace in the place of my own making,
rooted in a few acres with the wooden structures
of my building and repair that would collapse
I think in short order if abandoned, nature
quick to reclaim what's hers, including me,
so i attend to my soul as well as my shelter.
Yet after forty revolutions in one place
I still feel like I''m waiting for something —
the book drops, the heat clicks on,
the clock strikes its coil — half past.
The dog lifts her head and looks me in the eye,
and I remember what I wanted to begin with.
The waiting is finished. It's happening now.
