Looking Out a Window
I am sitting here,
looking out a window,
writing this poem,
the fewest words I know
to say what cannot be said.
I want to give this poem away,
I do,
but it will not leave me,
now a kind of
perfume in the air,
lingering
like a lover
who does not want to go.
Shall I give this poem to you, my friend?
Will you accept it?
And if you should choose to say yes,
here is my humble request:
please gaze at something today
just a little bit longer than you normally would.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at January 25, 2022 03:07 PM
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