Corridors

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Gaze out the window, witness the sky melting into a lush blue waterfall, falling from the high green cliff and disappearing into the clouds. The woods of this square are still red, a serene sense of cedar. Yellow lilies to my left in a glass vase. Cut bread on the long, empty table.

The air is a chili mist. Outdoors glaze like the sun-reflected wings of a dragonfly. The ground, still moist with soil. I too was once there, my feet muddy. They called me, perhaps, a boy.

But I am no longer there. A visitation of a beautiful dream from the merciless corridors of memory.

⬤