Left Better Blind

It wasn't that the promised letter failed to arrive,
An absence sudden, conclusive,
Though sharp salt, is called predictable.

It was the waiting.
Empty canister whispering to anguish
Tamping frog swamp swallow black.
Faith bone, oh telling bead, held fast.
With dawn, inevitably, slow crumpling
Honor's bridge gives way to rising floods.

Monika Riney 2/ 2009