Room for Waiting by David Breeden

Room for Waiting

How fast a world crumbles.
How slowly one gathers again.

There is the arriving;
there is the going away.
There is the train siding

with its birds and debris.
And waiting. And waiting.

There is the falling rain beating,
beating against windows.

How slowly a world gathers,
if ever one arrives. Yet
something glimmers—both

birds and debris. Rain.
Windows. Trains.
Arriving. Arriving.

by David Breeden

Twitter: @DBreeden

Editor’s Note: The deliberate line breaks and careful handling of single words/images set this poem within a contemplative meditation on the state of the world from the inside out.

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