we wait. The sun steady

in its track. Vicissitudes

of light, shadows thinning,

growing long. We endure

and wait. Salvation in

the hour before the hour

before dusk. The seedlings

come twirling down,

skittering along the street.

The shadows quiver like

benevolent ghosts. The trees

cackle their sussurant laugh.

And we, impatient, sentient

beings, wish time to be inert.