Waiting
The frogs are silent.
Crows fly from tree to tree
in tightening circles
and grow darker
in leafless canopies.
Rainwater beads
on abandoned webs
strung between
the thin twigs of an oak
and hang like diamonds
around the neck
of a dead queen.
What was here
is now somewhere else
and each year
I find it harder
to wait out the long months
until it comes back,
and begin to wonder
if it ever will.
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