Scooped out a ladybug from my car

and set it free on a spring breeze

I am waiting

to be scooped up too

to float on a breeze

with no concern for “up” or “down”

imagining wings

with no compass

no anchors

no star guides

maybe a moon

maybe some sun shadows

because I would wait

to see what shapes form

from midday steps beneath midlife clouds

puffing along, morphing

from soft bunnies

to Vulcan nerve pinches

Whales don’t weep on land

but we do and it’s awful

and a little funny

and so simian in its futility

knocking together nuts

to get a little reward

pressing on screens

for a little relief

the blind trying to decipher

a laugh from a cry

the deaf seeing clouds

with no shadow

I am waiting for rain

to wash the dirt from the garden

to know a fresh new day

in old skin

storm clouds being as good as any

to direct our play

Veering very close to the fountain

enough for my toes to get wet

I am waiting to hear

if he’s sick or if she’s happy

and if Friday is a New Day or

just a nonsense day with a title

because I would wait

for labels to fade

before I decide

if it’s worth the effort

to walk around the fountain

again and make the steps count

or to just sit

quietly with shadows

of sun giving way to moon.