it did not go well, this thing

often it does, more often than not

light shines through the dusty windowpane

motes briefly illuminating the air

distant sirens don’t matter, until one time they do

and all has crashed down

not well, not well at all

even though the roadside is lined with purple violets

no forgiveness, and why would I ask?

the wind is cold, though spring approaches

offerings of blue-skied days and false warmth

I am not deceived, old enough to know nature’s fickle promise

my misdeeds mine and acknowledged

holes in walls, friendships killed by unkind word

scrapes on floorboards, aspirations felled by glaring fault

dust on ceilings, dreams given the lie by lazy inaction

all of these I have done and will live accordingly

I stand in the doorway and listen to the rumble of the train

unable to remember how long I’ve lived