The golden
seething summer sun
settles in the west.
Beams, like bristles,
a pointy sundown crown.
I don’t know who you
are, but I’ve been waiting
as you walk away from the forest,
animals following behind you
frolic as you call to them
with your magical whistle.
Seated beside you
holding your hand
holding back
holding on.
You are here,
but I am waiting for someone
else, for this to be over.