I wait for you at the railway station.
Often impatient, peeking at the tracks,
as if a deceiving turn was hiding trains
and at the right angle, I might spot one.
I take notice of the little skip in my step.
Like a little boy excited on Christmas for his gift.
Like a city scorched by summer, at the sight
of cumulonimbus clouds.
Ready to breathe easy when it pours.
My heart pouts at your absence
for a week. It insists that you must be accounted for.
I consult my books. You're a heavy debtor.
I'm the collector and payback starts with a hug.
I see a train come around.
I tip-toe closer to where it stops.
Hey Bailey
I'll see you soon.
It feels like rain; the city is ready to rejoice again.
