We are waiting.
I know we are waiting.
In time we are waiting.
But what are we waiting
for?
How
will we greet its arrival?
It must be grand,
large, larger,
the largest of grand wondrous things.
Thunder and lightning over a dark silent sea.
Or is it minute,
miniscule,
infinitesimal,
so small you would miss it
exploding before your eyes?
An atom floating in a cup of coffee.
As soon as you anticipate
you have missed it.
What we are waiting for
is not confined to the future.
What we are waiting for
is in the future’s recent past which is today.
Why are we waiting when the waiting is over?
Is waiting postponing?
Or a habit we cannot unlearn?
Yet,
we are waiting.
1991