Between Glass and Distance
When the sun permeates through the vent
and rests upon my pale face on the bed
Something in me gravitates toward a far
Then I watch the cracks in my old red wall
A quiet, melancholic tune stirs inside me
When cool rain assails the window sills,
I press my pale face to the glass pane,
let each drop traverse slowly on my skin—
The same pull draws me into twilight's hue.
An ache rises, same as that wordless tune.
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