Words and Verse
Window
This quiet sill of wind and dirt and dust
Is is waving through the room in ruffle and gust,
Here afternoon the great who studied grass
Its chill and cool, the folial swush out there,
Composes them, in February's air
And spins them through the sill, unbarred by glass,
There clouds' fine filters mask the sunny hues
To a low spectrum, all but drained of blues
That grows with greens, spreads crackling brown, sheet-thin,
Pauperized white, paved black, and pebbled gray,
The indistinct dull pink of aging day,
Transparent nothing breathing it all in.
In here! All that's not lazy in this scene
Of lulling branches dangling drowsy green
Comes with a sinuous scented hiss to fill.
Fragrance of pines a-pulsing their perfume
With cakes of growth whiff wafting though my room
And funnel through this portal of my sill.
The disk they call a sun looks down as though
Quite sick, drained of its red complexion's glow,
Pallid and cold... So sickly it reclines
To lie down on it's bed and rest a bit..
It sets! A red blush fevers over it
And it lies, with breath pulsing through the pines
It's last red waft falls downward with a gust
Through this still sill of wind and dirt and dust.
Is is waving through the room in ruffle and gust,
Here afternoon the great who studied grass
Its chill and cool, the folial swush out there,
Composes them, in February's air
And spins them through the sill, unbarred by glass,
There clouds' fine filters mask the sunny hues
To a low spectrum, all but drained of blues
That grows with greens, spreads crackling brown, sheet-thin,
Pauperized white, paved black, and pebbled gray,
The indistinct dull pink of aging day,
Transparent nothing breathing it all in.
In here! All that's not lazy in this scene
Of lulling branches dangling drowsy green
Comes with a sinuous scented hiss to fill.
Fragrance of pines a-pulsing their perfume
With cakes of growth whiff wafting though my room
And funnel through this portal of my sill.
The disk they call a sun looks down as though
Quite sick, drained of its red complexion's glow,
Pallid and cold... So sickly it reclines
To lie down on it's bed and rest a bit..
It sets! A red blush fevers over it
And it lies, with breath pulsing through the pines
It's last red waft falls downward with a gust
Through this still sill of wind and dirt and dust.
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Window
Window
