Just Waiting

The phone sits there, a dark weight

on the polished wood.

It hasn't moved for hours.

It shouldn't. And it would.

The afternoon light stretches,

a long, slow yellow band.

Dust motes swim inside it,

a whole tiny land

of floating bits. Each one

caught, then lost again.

They drift and rise and fall,

and rise, and drift, and then

they settle. Quietly.

Just wait for that to start.

There is nothing else to do

but watch them fall apart.