Waiting

 The cell phone screen reflects

The tree canopy and the sun

Seen through it before I type this out

Hoping truth will arrive somehow

Without will or desire or effort

The religious songs from a shop

Keep me company as I wait

For the flour miller to appear

At his empty unit swept and silent

Like the medicine men perhaps

He likes his clients to wait

While he finishes his chores

Or maybe his Friday temple ritual

Waiting is what we do well

For something to turn up

When nothing will matter.