and i cannot recall life
in muted greys, so it was you,
for you are my every memory

....come away from the window.. ..

and i was plain in the colourless
sky, hands working to keep my hair
out of my face, and i am always the same;
with or without the colour

wailing windows are always
shuttering when you walk by
and you never speak but i feel
you are there somehow....
and we talk
or we don’t talk

but the dream of us gets out of focus

. ..come away from the window..

i am ever.out.side wandering
in the green [which was grey]
but i always end up back where we began;
i heard the wind kick up stronger
and it made the grass and heather grow.
it made the trees make whispered screams
[i guess that was my cue to come but i am unsure]
... through a black and white neverclosed door

and i know you, t.here; i know you, w.here.

.. .come away from the window, please. ..

you are sitting in the black light framed window,
surrounded by some sort of plague of moths
all fluttering around you,
lighting on the silver rosary i gave you
dangling omnipotently between your fingers
and you... .  ....
you have not your eyes, not YOUR eyes;
they are someone else’s, or not at all eyes, 
i cannot decide,
but there should be a storm
in those everless blue eyes; instead
your eyes were solid black to seep
the dreared grey atmosphere
and antagonize the eternal white all around,
without refractive edges, without reflective ledges
from which the whole world seems to line up just to jump. .
i imagine your black eyes would be mystifying
under other dreams, but not in the window.. .

.. .please, come away from the window. ..  

i asked you why....
why did you come?
why are your eyes different?
why are there moths?
why is it so windy?

you keep your silence
in the moths
in the licorice window
. ..come away from the window. ..

and you grin
and begin to eat the rosary, one
bead at a time, some kind of disturbing rock candy necklace..
and then you spoke
'come away from the window... now'

i back up and out of my dream,
and you keep eating beads
with moths flying in and out of your mouth.

'you should know better....mea culpa, mea maxima' 

and your voice scarred in the washed out
background of what once was; colours missing
.. . come away from the window..............