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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 

like grief.


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.

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