Saturday, October 11, 2014

Window pane

The window pane is darker than brown
lighter than ash but the stare escapes her
and lands on the softly mowed lawn
she passes the garden every night on her way to the patch she calls her own
now from the window she sees the frost laying its blanket for the night
five flowers fragrantly fill the room with the smell of a promise
and warmth, nothing like roses to put the mind into
wandering, old romantics like poems and ancient poets
 technicalities needed to build up an illusion out of missing
that the things that are available will be for a while
that the faces like stamps make a print, with wet ink
that the truth can be folded like a pretty napkin and stowed away till further use
she dusts the picture on the windowpane, another reminder of the hand behind the roses
all before she stares again into space out of the diamond-shaped windowpane
she will gaze

lover who are you thinking of
under the blanket of sky and furry diamonds
who glues up your pieces

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