There’s a charm
To easy surrender
By the draft
Of stone-gray windows
Where afternoons
Idle like memories
Whose good fortune
Gets sullied by rain

And grace once known
Disappears
Into faded panes
Under awnings
Since tempered glass
Though transparent
Shields nothing
But heads never held

Up high as hearts
Longing so
While escaping storms
Seeking shelter
As such tired lives
Sag with envy
Knowing sunlight
Exists very close

For their wish
Tastes only relief
During restful days
Slowly passing
When sleeping again
Over ottomans
Sipping stillness
Sick from defeat

How dreams unfold
Being home
Never bright
But colorless feelings
Always painted there
After downpours
Washing canvas
Stale yet resigned

Tracing every line
Nearly smeared
Through recalling faith
Duly wasted
Seeing tears cascade
Along altars
Peering far outside
What is safe.

• J. Pigno