In a vacant room
in your house
you sit a the window
eyes intent on the winter landscape
it is your hot breath
through your fuzzy beard
that paints the window white
'till the chill around you
restores the crisp transparency
each time
you wash the glass
with your moist breath
your finger strokes
letters, words, symbols
slowly they fade
into the distant
unreachable background
the harder you breathe
the longer they remain
frozen in thought
then melt into memory
frustrated, you leave
seek out other rooms
Randy Hurst
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