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fading sunlight filtering in through the dusty window
the strong long shadows of afternoon
my visitor is silent for a long moment
and I watch him, unmoving
the window has a crack in it
and the wounded glass casts a
small rainbow against his drab brown tunic
mud brown, the color that hides everything
mottled it is with faint stains
just like his wings
the brown-white of a snowbird's feathers changing
at length he asks, are you ready yet?
and i shake my head mutely
indicating with a brush of my hand the things
that i consider needful and are yet undone
i can feel his frustration
those things would be completed
if i did not choose to dawdle
and they would be taken care of upon the completion
of his business with me
but i've chosen to take my time
the important thing is that i chose
and because of this he waits
how long can i put these things off?
the sun sets
and so do i