On Waiting Forever

The snow and rain is not fettered by the months and seasons we have assigned to them. They come and go as they please, taking us by surprise.

the last week of the third month
snow falls outside still
in the remaining winter
lazing by the window
I cup my hands
making an offering bowl
in anticipation of the rain
any day now
that does not care
about what week or month
we have determined it ought to be
no wonder
how clearly we have such little say
over time of when it will be one end
to another beginning
left standing with a flurry of sky
falling down upon you