Of the World Outside
The world outside my window never
holds its breath, nor waits for a new sky.
It doesn’t cast its eyes to the horizon,
nor into the starry expanse of night
in search of a new dream.
The world outside listens to
these words, these words,
clicking inside my mind like birds
pecking at seed inside winter’s dirt
so black and damp it clings
I shall die while the world outside
accepts arrivals and departures at the
same time. Now is the only word it knows–
now, this moment, whispering light on
golden hillsides of the world outside.