Waiting For Mary
Friday is tomorrow and tomorrow you come home to
winter mornings of rose colored dawns
windy afternoons, sullen evenings,
then star-bright chilled nights when
your breath whitens rising into the universe.
Tomorrow the trees will be one day closer to
their buds leafing out, robins singing,
worms rising in thawed earth; tomato seeds
exploding out of their shells, peppers too.
Tomorrow the garlic tips green a little more.
Red headed finches eye April nesting sites.
Nonetheless, tomorrow feels so far away, because
you are so far away; because
because I cannot fast forward time; because
because we are not there yet and today is
Thursday. Hurry home! My kisses
are waiting for you.