My eager lover is coming to me.

I am waiting by my window to catch a first glimpse of her.

She will be smiling, her blue eyes will be shining.

I will feel, for I know myself, I will feel breathless.

I am already excited.

Hard cold rain is falling

Threading her lithe body, through the slanting rain.

great winter drops falling on her heated face,

she will have walked a long way to see me

When she arrives I will kiss her lips, press her wet face against mine,

give her sweet Turkish coffee, warm her hands against my chest

But I know this, she is coming.

She isn’t here yet but I know she is coming

She (does) love(s) me.

Walking (through) the dripping forest, I wonder

Can she see my candles burning.

Will she see me, through my rain drenched window, at my table writing.

Waiting seems so long.

Wait is that her I see weaving through the trees

Her small feet in high boots, she is avoiding puddles.

Or no, its only a fern waving, not yet, she isn’t coming yet it is only my own eagerness

 tricking and playing little jokes with me.

Maybe she won’t come,

It is blowing harder now, rain hammering

Sideways against the windows

falling water dances  across the cove.

Dropping out of dull pewter skies onto pewter water,

Then popping back up like small clear figurines, to fall once more.

She will come, she is coming, she told me she would.

She is as eager as I,

My eager lover.

The candles burn lower

They lick and flicker little wavering red tongues of heat.

As I watch them, hot and molten, a little tear of wax

Breaks over the rim of one and slowly, ever so slowly,

runs red down the shaft.

Douglas Granum