vortexes pull thy down
inch up you must
hands come like jewels on a crown
but if not to rust you trust
the window lies open
the cars rush past
the ink tickles to happen
engrave a verse of the mind so vast
one such hand is warm
but flames burn the grass
the heat soothes the past harm
but any inch forward is on this glass
you pull the chair
gripping the pen to stitch it up
you give the window back a long stare
and the words in your fingers swell up
cozy fingers at crumbling houses
but this love is that which all fire douses
the words race away in the cocoon
love and words can never come too soon
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