the spring morning was fresh and clear
the sunlight illuminating the thin curtain
and turning the sparse room yellow-orange
my eyes register the glow, and i wrap the blanket
around my shoulders, tucking my hands tightly under my chin
and moving my face to feel the warmth of the new day
their voices flow in through the open window
words that do not match the unspoiled light of dawn
dark words, contrasting the cool new day with old anger
unfulfilled dreams, expectations found in the world of cinema
that cannot be made real by friend or spouse
old words and new words that mean the same thing,
over and over like repetitions at the gym
building strength for a competition that has no winner
i leave a second window open so the words flow through
my tiny house and don’t stick to me
they exit and move across the dew-covered back lawn
on the breeze they tumble
over and over
polishing each other to a smooth, dull sheen
smoother and smoother, like stones in a stream bed
searching for another open window
to enter
and stay
