Perchance, it is my turn to stare out the window…
I have changed rooms so many times,
still nothing seems quite right.
From one story up,
is a blanket of stone drab.
though the pain has come…
I wonder why it is you stay?
If I turned to you right now and said,
‘I am sad.’
How would you reply?
NO doubt, it is a shallow breathe that separates us…
keeps us apart.
So your answer would poignant and…tart.
Coarse, are the veins of ignorance.
That is why there will forever be…
an indentation our stone makes in the snow.
Life puddles up, surrounding it.
And, there is no place for the dirt to go.