Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Night Breeze

The shutters on the antique windows,

Gently clack against the wind. It is

Nighttime.


She sits alone, a sullied mirror in one,

An open palm for the other.

Perhaps to extract the last remnants

Of his essence from the air, when it comes.


Her hand glides unwittingly, seeking the

Comfort of the old familiar textures.

The old monuments.

They are…changed.


Everything she touches is glazed with

Her own absence.

The quiet, moan of the

Aged oak floorboards, distant.


Yet her gaze remains fixed on the wind; its

Subtle caress on the curtains…

Her cavernous gaze finds itself,

Reflecting, on the timeworn glass.


In her, she sees the old imaginary self, her

Childish attempts at constructing an adult

Woman. The one who belongs…


The old knees hobble down

The conversational stairs in recognition of

Her faux pas. She sees only one last glimpse,

From down the lane, through her swollen eyes.


“Goodbye, my love.” he mutters

As inaudibly as the door

Swinging shut from the cool, night breeze.