In those days I’d sit

By the window sill

In the cold dark daytimes

Of Winter.

I’d hear the blinds in the kitchen

tapping,

Then a chill followed by unwelcome cold

Breeze, from those gray days.

It was not morbid.

I was younger, Reveling in possibilities.

My friends would call me in the

Evenings, and we’d be

Be 40 year misanthropes

In Manhattan bars.

I was in the mindset of returning

To that small, wooded college

upstate NY, as I took a personal leave.

A sea of papers covered my

Bedroom floor with sophomoric attempts

At a novel.

I didn’t mean to make those memories,

Such is the way of nostalgia.

I’d let the tap from the blinds on

the window Keep calling me. I’d light a

cigarette and smoke.

Meticulously in moms kitchen. Letting

My thoughts ruminate. Giving into short

circuitry.

I didn’t need the Spring to

Bring me to my senses. It was still cold

Out, when I arose from that state

And closed the window shut.