refracted light
in a place where light hardly touches, and you graze the floor
distaste
at the layers of dust you’ve let grow over the years
who did this? who was the one
who let the snow melt and the spring come and the summer fade
over and over
who was the one
who let the furniture grow restless with disuse and the shadows
lonely
and the skeletal remains of the dreams you played in your mind
and the streets in your home, worn thin with no travellers
going nowhere
now that you have gone