The sky forgets
how to be anything but gray.
It leans against the glass,
dull and unspeaking,
like someone
who has run out of questions.
A tree stands still,
barely moved by the wind
that doesn't care to arrive.
Inside,
the silence takes up more space
than the furniture.
A cup cools on the table.
The day does not begin,
oh only continues.
Somewhere,
a bird might still be flying.
But not here.
Not now.