with no place to go
I’m sitting in a rocking chair
next to the bay window
paralyzed
a ray of light shining through
warming my hands
inside a clock is ticking
a fire burning
eyes shut tight I listen
to the house settling
as finches gather
in nearby spindle tree
I’ve watched the cycling
of the seasons
for so many years gone by
seemingly
from this very place
where the passage of time
simply stands still
february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
