Windows

There is no crescendo at the end of this tale. 

No applause to see you off to a never beyond. 

Only two open windows that mark your leaving, 

glaring quietly across the chasm that separates 

deeds and desires of those final moments 

from ever seeing the light of day again. 

Inquisitive beyond reproach, your eyes lay 

languished over the murky and the mundane. 

Or did those worried eyes stand witness 

to your trials and tribulations, helpless, 

while you stood stoic to face the judgement, 

inevitable yet fair in every regard? 

When you were resigned to revisit and assess 

each of those fleeting glimpses of the past, 

 weaving in and out before the final fade, 

they left you exhausted and petrified, 

inviting and enticing you to ease your burden upon  

misplaced paper clips, cups, memories; names.  

If only there was a way to consolidate 

all those files and dossiers that bound you 

into the person that you cherished to become; 

but all that remains are kind words of strangers, 

echoes and intervals of our disquiet dissonances, 

and two open windows peering out from where you stood.