The window in the den
refuses to open any more
stuck as it is in its yesterday
the glass gone milky with time
the window screens thick dusty
the images on the small street
in front of the house frozen
just as they were yesterday
the wind pushing a leaf
We are the old men now
monitors of time’s hallways
clipboards & pencils in hand
recording the passages of men
leaving the library of their lives
scarves wrapped round necks
bewilderment on their faces
at what they witnessed thru
the window in the den
Little gifts find me all along the way . . .
Were it not for the prayerful presence of faithful friends,
I would not look between the crevices of the rocks for roses.
Alleluia. Amen.
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