sitting. watching. waiting.

hiding in a rocky cleft

and watching from the hillside

or in the cool shade behind the flaps of a tent,

I am waiting for a whisper of life,

a cloud of dust on the horizon

announcing your presence;

Love is on his way

and I would greet him with joy

and hear what he has to say.

For it is in the passing

that he lets his voice be heard.

“The Lord, the Lord…”

and suddenly I remember

the sound of my own name too.

For this, I would spend all I have,

my very life in the waiting.

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