From the comfort of this place

I sit waiting for Capella

to take its place.

Bright in darkest hour

I imagine sitting waiting

for words to shoot out

like neighborly stars.

So many light years away

and yet I believe

wishes do come true

even when writing a poem

to no one.

Listen closely enough you’ll hear

repeated sighs and pleas

as I sit waiting for you

to appear.

waiting 2

burn baby burn

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