In Waiting Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

So I wait flummoxed in your furlough
As the wryness of the writhing dusk
And the careening dawn
Are told in the undulating currents
Of your distant allure;

So I do to myself what winter
Does to the trees:
Sets them to ice - petrified and sallow
Until autumn and the Sun arrive
Where my inflorescence and my
Shrubs, my twigs and my roots
Are all stretched into the far-flung sky
Where I see you in the nights
Where winter is the only companion
I know, resting upon my frail shoulders.

And in all the lonely, broken places
I am the most desolate and chagrined:
I am an unfilled dwelling underneath
The rain and midnight:
My doors are open - so are my windows
Scraping as the wind trespasses
And then exits through each portico.

I wait for you:
My doors are open
My windows too;
Until then,
Each of what makes me a home:
Quelled and aching
Until you come
With your flawless grace.