There Was Never A Window

There is poetry in everything, in every experience and in every emotion. There is a transition taking place right now, and I imagine the summer brings transitions for many. Here is a transition poem that speaks to where my feelings are right now. It’s a first draft, I imagine I will work on it and work on it again before it tells me it’s done.

There Was Never A Window

Sweep all the rooms once

twice, thrice to be sure.

Take out the trash,

make sure every inch

is spotless. Shut off

every light, turn the key.

Never look back.

Your truths and your lies

are in boxes and bags again.

How many boxes and bags

have carried you from way to

way, from bed to bed, from

movement to movement.

Your face is a stone,

and your feet are the ocean.

There is no sand, there are no

cards, there is no house. There is

no more house. There never was

a house. A door. A window.

You were  never a Sequoia.

You could never work with straw.

The wind always came, then the rain.

Always the rain.

Always the rain.

Always the rain.

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