Diminishing Returns

Diminishing Returns

 

I crack the window, listen:
What message can this cold wind carry

but this breeze won’t tilt my room’s way and come in
I reach out it slips through my fingers

Unkind even to the moon it has taken a little off the top
Diminished month sent howling through the pines

Unauthored, not meant to be read –
or merely hurrying by, a forgotten promise?

5 thoughts on “Diminishing Returns

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