Tell Me

I am waiting and
cold with the wail of wind
the curtain rustling
the elemental moan
rising under my door -
I wait for you
to tell me what I am for.
Will the sign be
a shooting star in a navy sky
or the silent creak of constellations
as they swing on
their ancient way
or will it be the quiet
hum of a pebble in
the heart, or
the afterthought of a clear
day blown forward by
a high wild wind?
Will my ancient kin reach
across time to touch my
hand and pressing
skin to skin, give me the sign
that now, now is
the time to fly
to win?
Or will clarity break free 
and douse me with its power 
a sudden drench of sweet 
summer rain?   Well. 
I wait.    I listen.   Begin.
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