The wind is fierce across the hill,
the snow fence, those flowers
outside my high window stripped
down to thistle, and finches,
catching a nibble
while their small bodies slam
against the glass, flung
with each gust.
Over the hum of computers
and the prattle of phones
I can hear them, shrilling
and thumping, yet they go back
and back again for more
dead flowers
as the glass fills with sticky pink
tufts as if the sun setting into clouds,
as if this pane was a canvas
and hunger the cruelest paint,
as I turn away from that egress
view and go back
again to my work.
Basement Office by Cathryn Cofell | Sandalwood & Vanilla
$20.00Price
