the curtains wave goodbye.

Burnt beige curtains dance through the wind on a solemn September day,
Shattering sunlight over crippled white lilies,
as they pray at the feet of distanced clouds.
Begging for those beaten, battered planes,
to fly back o’er the horizon of wavy, golden grain.
Blaming this shaky, shatter-windowed home,
for never letting them go.

And like the hem of a twirling taupe dress,
they flutter amongst moon-sick wrens.
Bittersweet tomes of existence,          
alone in this lonely, gray old house.
They wrap themselves ‘round sandalwood crosses,
kept forever inside,
they wave goodbye to a velvet ocean.
Crying into their sleeves,
Addio, addio, addio.