I wait
for the sun to appear
through old water logged leaves 
of worry,
wait…
for the pages of old souled fears 
to stop ambling by the window greyly
and for the old woman
to stop knitting her rows 
of lack,
wait…
for early morning sun beams 
to snatch at this specter 
til she unravels

into dimple dappled pools  of sundrenched
hope