I got a river standing

still in my head.

A half a world greets

me through wet curtains.

Gray walls are my thoughts

without color.


An old wooden floor talks back

to my shoes.

A ceiling fan, its life long over,

brushes at cobwebs

in corners.


Newspapers yellow

without the sun.

Dust is the snow of abandoned



Overshadows of morning

clouds dampen the day.

The stream of traffic

pulls me into another

flow of day.











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