I lean with longing on the sill.
I am at the edge of expectation,
to see the future form, the grace
I have wished for, the humble steps
of hope, the whirlwind ready to kiss my cheek.
My heart is at the window,
I have been here so long,
the horizon has been hidden by the leaves’ ornamentation, by pages of years, by my too small courage.
My heart is at the window.
I pray that love sweeps down the lonely road
and breaks open my heart, so sadly patient,
into the seizures of a streaming sun,
shattering me into the light that taunts my vista.