WINDOW
A window in solitude
the sun sloping down on the hills, trees reclining,
a quiet descending, a coffee mug,
the smoke of dried up twigs
rising beyond,
spreading a screen of something I cannot name,
hope, despair, sleep...
I need a book to browse the pages of a life,
which I started reading in my youth,
and then gave up for something else,
and then began an endless trail
of stories given up half read,
bookmarked for reading at a later day, a better time,
a time marked but never recounted, for the time of counting was long gone.
This window's not bad, after all.
The coffee has tasted never so warm, never so good.
A trifle lot of odd things, collected and thrown away.
A solitary window, a coffee mug,
a landscape with a few brushstrokes, simple, uncluttered,clean.
Just have to mind that marine blue,
which I always tended to overuse
and plunge the perfected piece with just that addition of marine blue
into a dark tide of despairing gloom
which no amount of cleaning and rubbing salt over
could rectify and restore to the serene blue of the sky
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