this view is not the
view i wrote from last and clacks of keys sound deeper here, more resonant.
the rope swing out
the window blew wildly in
the breeze tonight, as if some stranger sat swinging
as branches danced above and swayed.
the lights are dim now.
the refrigerator hums a relentless rhythm.
i should be sleeping, wrapped in sheets but
the night and
the week ahead
and
the dread of another year,
another endless
year keep these fingers echoing on
keys.
i am wildly echoing
this breeze
these swinging
lights wrapped in
this dread
night.
