She sits in the dark and counts to ten
She shifts and sighs and counts again
She waits for what she does not know
Acutely alone, nowhere to go
She runs her fingers through her hair
And imagines hands that are not there
Upon her shoulder and down her spine
She misses them, but does not mind
For she knows that jasmine blooms at night
With heady scent, all dainty and white
She knows that crocus push through snow
In winter when they should not grow
And grassy flowers emerge from rock
Like nature some things just won’t stop
And a woman blossoms even when
Alone in the dark, she counts to ten.
