Watching Everything Pass

Watching everything pass, through blue glass.
Sun streams.
A child holding hands lets loose a balloon.
Pictures on the wall, not quite level.
Tables.
Cream white ceiling.
Skin of soapstone, unfeeling.

Each breath is a spring unwound.
Petals fall to the ground.
Spiralling scent,
catches a bee,
that wonders where the pretty thing went.

The road shifts bent,
and up, and down.
Through pine trees, fresh to distance, and all around.
In the starsparkle gaps between branches I see,
a memory of me,
made of grey glass.
Now I lie still and watch everything pass.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.