Window

Pull up to the scene with my ceiling missing.

Like a wire brush or a spider's legs,

Leafless branches line the obviously colored snow.

And something puts something else on some kind of shelf in my mind.

Something mystical on a shelf for the valuable, 

Something of love and warmth,

Something of anticipation like the colors of the bricks in the ground.

We all know this, and this is why I smile.

The sweet tingle of the future,

In my eyes,

Your eyes, 

And in the white of the lines.

Author's Note

Pull up to the scene with my ceiling missing.