Scratches on the window pane draw your attention.
Streaks of silver play with your eyes,
twisting, turning, confused with themselves, with each other.

You look closer, past the bewilderment that obstructs your view,
past the streaks that jostle for your attention.
You look onto the cold, unforgiving ground,
gray, simple, absolute.
You wonder if it can change, if it can let go,
become something else.

The old kitchen clock ticks away another hour,
your still there, a thousand memories ago.
Then you notice, a soft touch to the scene,
lying there, small, unnoticeable, insignificant.
You’re staring at it still.
Another joins it, falling blissfully down, taking away from the gray,
adding color, or rather the absence, masking it, becoming something else entirely.