The World Outside My Window Poem by Dan Hanosh

Through the trees, opaque
billowy pillows, splash on
an azure canvas, sailing furiously,
beyond my view.

Trees bending, each limb,
each branch, separately
shifting, everything dusted,
by a cold white blanket.

The hard rust road,
emitting bits, pieces,
translucent, behind the gray
dismal trees, now empty.

A picture, it’s beauty, a mere
landscape, unknown to all,
framed by my window where I work,
each day, composing, my words.

The sun breaks, the silence,
momentarily, revealing itself,
another frothy foam drowning
the expressions of light.

The green needles of a lone pine,
dangle, high above, scooping up
the rays of the sun,
today, there are few.

Sounds of motion, rush by,
swoosh, invading
my senses, suggesting
movement, contour.

Another cloud seizes the
sun, insinuating what
will surely come,
maybe not today, but soon.

Cold, moisture falling,
again, from the sky,
clouds, delivering white starlets,
multifaceted inhabitants.
Cumulus, like trees, dropping
their unneeded luggage,
as though aging, as a man
losing his youth.

Today, I understand,
the world outside
my window, a fragile old world,
that’s getting older.