
15/09/2025
Autumn Window
The glass becomes a river,
threads of silver stitching sky to soil.
Each drop leans into the next,
a pilgrim tumbling toward earth’s hunger.
Beyond the pane, the trees bow low,
branches whispering their brittle secrets.
Leaves, half-golden, half-grieving,
tremble at the gentle weight of morning.
The rain gathers itself in splashes—
soft as teardrops
from a God who remembers
how much the earth still thirsts.
I sit within the quiet hush,
watching the world drink.
Watching myself,
almost dissolve into it.