windows

Silences pervade conversations
invade the intimacy of loss
the flesh bloats with fear and
expected questions have learnt
not to wait for answers
to define themselves,
and feel complete.
Slipping between the last word
and its utterance
the tedium of breath watches
time fall off its hinges,
stretching itself to go back
to less modest beginnings.

some say it is time to look ahead,
that a kind of positive future awaits.
outside the broken window,
a flock of pigeons flies
(in a seamless order that
can but be borne of chaos)
over a field of dying grass
bloodied by red cotton silk flowers.