Still

Still listening beside a lake
of dark water. Still trying to read
the flight of crows, the fall
of tea leaves. Still dreaming.

Waiting for heavy velvet curtains
to roll back on their rails. For
a young buck raccoon to run
across the street. For squirrels
to find their hidden caches
and unplant forests of oaks.

Driving in the rain. Blinded
by the sun on a dusty windshield.
Drowning in brilliance,
breathing revelation—no waiting
still.