I sit on the Water Tower waiting
chapped hands in a visor over my eyes
looking toward Durham
hoping I see
you in that gossamer gown
on the road to Chicago.
I don't care if you stop
by Confederate streams
to pick phallic rocks
so long as you rise
release all your hair
and float on to Chicago.
No more will I sit
on the Water Tower waiting.
I'd rather go blind
than see through the sun
you in that gown
ascend in the air
pirouette in the wind
giggle again and
float back to Durham.