Glass

Glass

A dusty window

as I lean

my gaze wandering

to rows of cars

little space for breath.

They’re trying to meet the stars

buildings as silent as sand

a distant scream

a laugh unheard

chatter in the breeze

but from the window
you never find.

Solitary sounds

of a city

bathed from the sky

sun always present

or dust

in beige

in red.

Leave the curtains open,

if you must lie

do so with the sun

and softness

in the bright gleam

in the mellowness

of April’s guise.

 

April 18, 2009