Waiter
the poetry seeker
steps to the morning
still twigs lack
thoughts
the cat’s a shape
inert against hedge
a child close by monotonously
chants the same broken words
the searcher sits
cushioned
someone will bring food
someone will bring drink
events will occur
lines arrive
light won’t weaken
nor turbulence clog air
nor joists judder
doors bolt
the wrist cease
its limber ease
