It is very quiet here--so still

I don't live here--I live down the hill

On this winter's afternoon

The distant sun--it slowly swings the room around

This room hangs on a golden chain

Suspended

Frozen

Frozen in time since you went away

Walking through your rooms I though your things

Fitting--these aren't fingers these are wings

It says April on your calendar

It's winter now--I wonder where you are

I hope it's warm and sunny--or cold and windy

As long as you're fine

Your house is as tumble-down as mine

Crumpled papers everywhere like mine

This one says