Waiting

Waiting

Some nights
the only sound
high-pitched, insistent
tinnitus wire singing
unchanging 
these fourteen years

And still I wait

An image brushes— 
oak leaves scraping
the glass pane as wind 
rises  

Roll to sitting

two paths—fingers
fumbling in the dark
three clicks
of my lighted pen, jot
words that might
call back
how this feels

or rise, turn on
low light    toddle
down the hallway    
fingers find 
the keyboard    
eyes adjust
to brighter light

the high drone tone
the wait for words