Ellipsis

By | 1 November 2012

Rain streaks the window. Somehow her hair
holds the smell of matches struck.

The wind is loose around walls outside, tying itself
up in trees (birch leaves soft as ash).

She watches: breath showing and fading on glass.
He said if, and she waits, not knowing his language,

all the things he might have meant.

This entry was posted in 52: INTERLOCUTOR and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work: