Awaiting the tender moment.

Tumbleweed trends of a hardworking hand
reap no water to wash in
or bed to sleep soft.

Lay on back instead,
to watch through the eye
of tornado

as familiarities are shuffled
like a deck of cards,
pick one off the top

to try your luck.

Awaiting the tender moment.

Stripped bare of clothes
despite the constant reaping and sewing 
the farmland of possibility.

The rain won’t come till August,
yet drown in a whirlpool wind
of the world working against me.

As securities are scratched off skin
like lottery tickets.
Compare the numbers

to see if you hit.

Awaiting the tender moment,

when it all settles down again,
falling softly like snow
into place, flush like sheets

of solid ground to build a home
that resembles what was lost;
to taste a gain so small to most,

yet so sweet to my tongue.
Grab a piece from the bag
and place it in your mouth,

now tell me the color you chose.