I sit on the front porch of my parents’ house
and think of you
every day this year
Here is where
I realize you’re waiting for me
The cosmos hold up a sign
that tells me you’re near
Near equals x amount of years
I wait
My hope erects itself
6 feet tall and reproachful
Each day it grows into a beanstalk that looks like
you
54 miles down and intangible years
I climb to the end
It’s Saturn years long from here
The front porch is a short term haven—
—I sense you’re just at the door
I sit the front step for months
Waiting doorbell worship out and over
