The sky is
bright, light
Blueish-gray,
matted by clouds
Thin as wisps
of frost
There are a
few leaves
Dried things
that cling to the trees
Flutter in
the breeze
Outside my
window
Dark limbs
stretched across the pane
The old
glass cascades
It bends the
soft light
Waving in its
fluid state
Windows on
the world
