Chalk fingers

They have come to terms,

They’ve stayed for periods

Silently reverencing their copper faced god

They stood reveling in quiet anticipation 

Waiting for words which they were told it would tell

How long must we watch the face of time

until we see the light?

How long does dawn last

measured in throbbing throats?

The last star fell

The window a chalkboard

These hands are not ours. You second that the dark erased all.

But I trace the moon in our self-made film of droplets

Wishing for rainbows so I can see gold

How long until we can appreciate the dark

And see ourselves in these stars?

My hands are cold, I’m told.

So I put them back in my pockets

If we could only hold this

Moment