Keeping Vigil

by revbillcook

In November I watch the sycamores

along the river turn amber to brown.

In the stiff breeze leaves break away

fall into the river, drift in its eddies.


In April minnows return to feed

in river shallows. Turtles appear

sunning in long lines on fallen logs.

Couples return  to walk the river bank.


I sit by this window

with skeins of yarn, running soft thread

through my fingers, waiting, watching,

wondering if you still dream of home

as often as I dream of your return.