I was standing by the window,
Half-daydreaming, staring blind
Hearing winter's blustery wind blow,
Playing games inside my mind.
It had been a normal evening,
Nothing untoward occurred
Til I saw somebody leaving,
Walking by without a word.
She was dressed in summer clothing,
Nothing more than rags of grey
As the bitter darkness rode in
I could feel her deep dismay.
She looked right into my kitchen
With such deep brown staring eyes
Like she'd stepped out from some fiction
From which mystic creatures rise.
And as I looked even harder
I saw right back through her head
Wondered where this strange departer
Had a home, a life, a bed.
As I watched her disappearing,
Fading right before my gaze
I realised that her appearing
Had been but fantastic haze.
For the little non-existent
Who looked deep, with languid stare
Was in fact my mind's insistence
On creative twilight air.
