nearing poem

Waitness

I look at
a calendar
sometimes

I use my fingers
to show spans
of days until

that time when I will hold you

it feels delicate
and rare like
something old
but I know better

I am casting hooks
into the clock

I try to snag
the hour hand
to move a little faster

no luck
oh well

I will give into easing

savor
slowly
near