The day is at once at tandem
with tepid sun, winter’s discomfiture, or feature.
Outside the room music
blares, Christmas is near
children squabble, then singing. Sighs, life takes
historical movement, years
lapse and then these visuals.
The town hasn’t changed much except for the number of boisterous cars, and pedestrians manipulating ways, hands up to code a message, please let me go to the other side. The trees silently stare at the church across, shadowy, languid movements. It is dusk.
Hands up. Let me go over to the other side, where I live, where I can breathe.
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