2:48pm

as i wait for you

as the hallways clear

and i sit and stare

on this wooden bench—

i feel like sleep.

a gap—

a space between what is—

and what is yet to be.

as i watch for the comings and goings

of my peers.

and i’m looking at the wall in front of me

that’s painted with a quote

from the poet who was born here—

about what he believes in the blades

of grass and the grains of sand

which he treads and he breathes

and he thinks they’re divine but

there’s nothing good here.

if he knew that this place was named for him he’d scream—

and i know that

because over and over

i’ve heard the learn’d astronomer speak

but i couldn’t leave

and i’ve never seen the stars.

so i sit

and wait

and think

cause thinking is why we were put here

and if i listen

i can hear music from the next room

and if i focus on my breath

there’s a tinge of spring scent in the heavy air that chaps my lips

and the girls to my left chatter—

they haven’t spoken in a year

one recalls her time in Florence—

how she must miss the scenery—

and they make a pact to get out of here

and travel to West Africa.

down the hall i heard applause

i wondered about the occasion

but now it’s quiet—

those girls must have had to catch their flight

but i’m still here

and i’m listening

and looking at that wall

and thinking about going to the moon sometime.

i am an hour

i am passing slowly

but only when you think of me.

i am an hour

you can’t see me

but i create you

just as you create me.

you’ll be here soon.

put a stop to my sleeping

just for an hour

if for an hour.