The Nightingale

They waited for her
to sing them skies
which did not change colors each hour
where the moon never went black
where the winds did not blow messenger clouds away

They waited for her
to sing them sleep
still & sober
which would bring them steamy dreams
the vapors condensing into droplets
on their empty eyelids

They waited for her
to sing them seasons
which had never visited their courtyards
which perched on branches turning them green
which showered leaves down the roads
on unsuspecting travellers
on windy days

They waited for her
to sing them streets
where dust did not rise to the horizon
making strange designs in the air
ominous & forbidding
but leaving no choice but to walk on

They waited for her
to sing them stories
of snow caps or dry taps
of wheels or whales
of sights they hoped,existed somewhere

They waited for her
to sing them smiles & sobs
but she sang them
silence & sweat

They waited for her
to sing them something - anything

They waited with hope - vicious & disgusting
fingers trembling with anticipation
ears aching with restlessness

They waited for her
They still do!