Poem For A Window

We met a thousand years ago by a lonely window

I was a wild rose then, growing by your window.

Forests of memories walk past cold, greying doors

yet burning suns will always rise outside my window.

Lost scents hang lazily from an old, heavy sky,

sting like rain on abandoned nights. Shut that window.

The wild rose forgets to bloom on still mornings

but birds remember my song, roosting by the window.

Winds blow secrets from shy, distant mountains,

bring back a country where I lived without windows.

A desert is born in dry hearts and thirsty minds

yet dreams feed on glowing sand, inviting like a window.

Words sleep like frightened children on dreary nights,

wake up as poems, with wings. Open the window