Wait for the savior's name?
i am listening for you, hoping
I have heard your voice, the white
of your hair has seen your eyes, and
willing, may I take a number, wait for you?
You are a savior, as are the others, close-mouthed
listening, yet willing to smile, and once, to reach out to
my hand, confidence to let go, let go, and still. I have not.
I do not let go. I am waiting for the Savior, trying to forget His
name I know, we know, His legs and body, shriveling as willingly He
went away, promising to come again, to receive, to take the numbers—a
way. And all I crave is to wait that I might hear the savior's name is a face I
already know. A friend I cannot have. A person I sent away, while my faithful
friends hold the best shapes they can of the lives they continue to choose in
definitely chosen, keeping themselves prepared, for their numbers are up at any
time. And I still ask of you, please, may I take a number and you remember it is given
to me, for you to receive me, for me to recall saving grace that is not yet defined, nor defying.
may want tuning.