The sun was sinking towards the west by now
And rays of light did not quite reach the window
In another time, another place, snow
Swirled around that same window, and a child
The same child that stood spinning round
And round and
Then fell to the tired floorboards
Watched the room rotate in lazy sickening circles
Crawled to the bed, sat, watched the magpies
Fly through the dying sun.
He sprayed deodorant before the fire place, clicked his lighter once
and watched flames lick before his eyes, a wave
of pale hand, he stroked them away.
As they had never been.
And then again, crossed to the bookshelf, full of places
he could not touch. Strokes a book, another, takes one
and lets it fall again forever. From of the corner
of his mind he sees the flames
relight themselves again, touching the bed, stroking
it's pillows and blanket with merciless golden fingers. Outside the dark grey clouds are high above the setting sun
they crack once
and let their angry weapons fall to earth, spitting
their shafts of ice and electricity, wind catches water, the whole world shakes
with the laughter
of a jealous god
and of a lonely child.