I’ve waited for something good
to happen all day.
I forget why. I am grateful
the first rise of the moon
doesn’t fall in the trees
but climbs above clouds,
that stars don’t refuse to tell
love stories. And when the wind
is loud, it doesn’t rebuke me.
Are the chances endless
the sun will jump out of bed,
open the window and fire up?
Will I applaud when he
takes a bow? While waiting, I imagine
that its shine on bed of dandelions
would be so warm I could
lie down and loll all day in its glow
and sass.
