It is very quiet here--so still
I don't live here--I live down the hill
On this winter's afternoon
The distant sun--it slowly swings the room around
This room hangs on a golden chain
Suspended
Frozen
Frozen in time since you went away
Walking through your rooms I though your things
Fitting--these aren't fingers these are wings
It says April on your calendar
It's winter now--I wonder where you are
I hope it's warm and sunny--or cold and windy
As long as you're fine
Your house is as tumble-down as mine
Crumpled papers everywhere like mine
This one says
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