Sometimes, it is hard
to see a life beyond
a hotel window.
There is no life to touch.
No candlelit feasts – or
witnesses to this
splendid isolation.
A single car passes by,
but never stops.
Such terror, ‘do not
come close to me’.
I cannot even hear the birds.
Or taste the sacred beard
of a single tree.
And I learned how some are.
No breath anew,
just the old ways.
Slum lords, dancing
in the clouds.
But then…
I shall soon tell all.
Of an indifferent and cursed earth.
A sea sucked out,
and lifeless fish – drifting away.
But also, of a love
and pretty form- that came my way.
You sent me the clowns,
when the rest forget.
Or didn’t care.
A partial witness
to these hotel days.
And my days of resurrection.