Waiting

Yellow stripes across the creamy

curtains. Hanging ruffled by the

solid squares of hunkered cushions

pitched together, front of speckled

windows white with roving light.

Passing motors under chirping

birds. A watered rinse of sky

and fluffy serpents white and diving

down into the swoon of rooftops.

Along the street, no face, no feet

tramp along the crumpled bend.

I, alone, sitting meekly

under floors, under sky

pondering the time and place

 and by what phrase shall it be framed?

Fading brightness storms the moment,

stillness itches with the pace.

Down the road, a silent cyclist

passes on my silent breath.

Windows grey with leaving day.

Creamy patches on the eggshell

curtains. Scrunched and tightly wrinkled.

 Frowning hunkered chairs conspire

together. Before the dappled windows.

Sunny phantoms of the atoms

melt upon my iceberg mind.