into the room from outside the window, scared.
I felt its head
shivering with an immeasurable fear.
The sky of its face had blackened
with the smoke of terror.
The lips were dry and
sweat beads were glistening on its brow.
The legs were shivering.
Scattered over its body were
welts of anguished time.
The wind that breaths life into others,
its own breath bore wounds that
death's cold pinch inflicted.
The wind,
which often has such a swift flow,
hid in my room.
Refused to blow and
kept shrinking.
I looked into its eyes
and continued searching for
a lake of blue sky there.