The low lying sun streams its light
Through the buckled diamonds
Of a window warped by time
It shines upon the fractured spines
Of a hundred idle books
And swirling columns of dust
Ever there, yet rarely seen
Invisible beyond the Sun's fire-fingered touch
Graceful flakes of gold on fire
Gliding silently but sure
Ten thousand feathers in a vacuum
Steadily piloted down
Through an atmosphere of learning
Settling in layers of ash and skin
The drifting snow of time
On table tops and empty chairs
Where you and I sat in our prime
Pretending not to see
Out of the corners of our eyes