the spring morning was fresh and clear

the sunlight illuminating the thin curtain
and turning the sparse room yellow-orange

my eyes register the glow, and i wrap the blanket
around my shoulders, tucking my hands tightly under my chin
and moving my face to feel the warmth of the new day

their voices flow in through the open window

words that do not match the unspoiled light of dawn

dark words, contrasting the cool new day with old anger

unfulfilled dreams, expectations found in the world of cinema
that cannot be made real by friend or spouse

old words and new words that mean the same thing,

over and over like repetitions at the gym

building strength for a competition that has no winner

i leave a second window open so the words flow through
my tiny house and don’t stick to me

they exit and move across the dew-covered back lawn

on the breeze they tumble

over and over

polishing each other to a smooth, dull sheen

smoother and smoother, like stones in a stream bed

searching for another open window

to enter

and stay