I will not stay today, with this shadow, sitting as i do.
i will no longer entertain this thought.
my wooden box and chair, my woven thoughts and matted hair
and yet it prevails, all this time, my provokeing pout, my secret failure.
I will no longer see through this glass
it has become musty.
what was green and panoramic is dust,
what was outside is only present within my hart.
like the deers foot stredy.
i regret but shant break.
my company has sat here with me a thousand years
and not once have we spoken.
i wont offer my hand or gesture
in this dim lit sharade i will not pay attention to this.
my lips have not named this
my eyes not decived.
in the glow of the morning
we sharnt tell the days apart nor the months or seasons
we quiatly sit, not in comfort but habbit
this restrain is eternal, my guest my silence.