Leafy Bones

Friday, 14 October 2011

From my window

From my window
I find the winds dust,
greying up my view with every dusk,
it stains and grows mould,
to be wiped and do over again,
whilst my reflection grows old
and the seasons grow cold.

Window to window,
the world and I
looking on each other
as we slowly slip
through wherever we fall,
the tireless movement.

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