Misbelief

The window is your witness. Let yourself be interpreted

And there’s no room for definition. When the grass invades

The sidewalk cracks and the fruit trees go unpruned,

When the day’s spent in sweatpants and the phone dies,

That’s when the phantoms appear, the recluse spinning

Under the floorboards. You are no longer safe, and must

Stare back, and give gifts. I’ll clean the glass, sweep and weed,

Fix my hair and put on make up to check the mail.

You need tending, in spite of the waning afternoon.

 

The glass is clean in a sheen of sweat;

Now I see the ocean clearly, but feel no wind.

Comments

[David Hawkins]

I'll weed with you!! but I don't know about sweeping and cleaning the glass.