Its dawning on me
A nice conversation
That lingers
Like a good dinner
You deserved
After a long week of listening
And never speaking
After a long week of waiting
And never getting your turn

Its coming slowly
Over the gray hills
Over the brown hills
Its goo falling down
And collecting the branches with it
It’s a half speed wind storm
With all the force
But slow
Painfully slow
Like watching a child
Untie an impossible knot
With no fingernail tips
For help
Like watching an old man
With a cane
Cross a busy intersection

Its here
Right in front of me
And it is
Not me
And I can hear it speaking
Under my skin
Between my lungs
It’s a collective burning
That climbs up
Rung by rung
To my throat
And soon
Maybe
I can tell it to you too
If you care
To know