Wait for Me
Helen Wickes

Thin light on the path ahead,
                 wavering, can’t see it,
now here again, your footsteps,
the starlight faint, fireflies’ light
muffled in the humid night air.
Can’t make out that sound
bird maybe animal, no matter,
a living being, a comfort.
You’ve gone on ahead,
following you is often boring,
                 exhausting, occasionally
thrilling—there’s a moment’s
respite to hear the creek’s
thin trickle, to smell the watercress
                 crushed underfoot—so bright,
so bitter. Wait for me, I’ll catch up
with you, any day now.

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