You stand and watch the patient rain.
Outside the wind-stained spotted glass
it filters down and settles on limbs
lifeless and dark, whitens quietly.
Months from now, after next week’s sun
adds its melt to the icy crust
beneath the groping branches,
it will finally be what the cherry needs.
The pane at left is compromised.
Years have passed since last you saw
beyond its obfuscating fog.
Some day, maybe some day soon,
you will replace that clouded pane.
Until then, you stand and wait,
watch through only half a window
as winter holds its patient reign.