An End

I stifled my breath for you,
For a moment,
Until the wind gushed by
And my lungs were opened
Like the understanding held within my eyes.
These silhouetted pictures,
Crafted from the sheepskin
With driftwood frames
Falter in their masking
The walls.

I see now and breathe
And lay in wait
For the stuffy air to
Dissipate. Open the window.
Shut the damn door.
Leave me to lie
And to live.
This dust isn't keeping me;
You're not boxing me in.
I'm gone whether you care
Or notice.

To be cordial would be nice.
To recompense would be better.
But you prefer neither,
So I suppose I'm the same.
I'll see you the other side of never.

I'm closing the window, Peter.
I know I said I never would,
But it's becoming painfully clear
That the only thing an open window gets me
Is a draft.