how deeply the black cleaves the green
a cup of tea before the clock ends the hour
in these rooms all is silent, unseen
the fruit in the bowl long gone sour
beyond the window the living
a starling drags a worm from the grass
the shadows in here whisper
a trickle of rain splits the glass
as curtains of water are drawn
from clouds that tumble and spark
the day falls away from its dawn
toward its inevitable dark
a breeze gives life to the leaves
softly shimmering wave
holding sleep from these agonies
comes closer each moment a grave