While We Wait For May

The daisies continue to stretch
in search of sun

the way cathedral steps stretch
to the son of God,

or a virgin in stained glass prays,
backlit to glorious hues.

In the north
winter's white mirror thins and cracks,

while south, wood is stacked, curtains drawn,
and chairs gathered closer round the hearth.

I wait like a mourner in graven motif
alongside a tomb from 400BC,

wait like stone, as the blips on the monitor
keep talley of your heart

where you lie
inhabiting silence.

The wing beats of a flock of tears
pass over the face in the mirror.