The walls turn dark,
then light,
then dark again.
Another day over.
A street lamp
casts its sodium glow
through the open window.
Night-time noises
carry on an indifferent breeze
- occasional traffic,
cats fighting amongst rubbish bins,
distant trains -
and the smell of rain.
I imagine the grass,
wet and yielding,
and how it would feel
under bare feet.
I could go outside,
feel that for myself,
smell the damp earth up close
and let the rain fall on me.
But the door
and the garden beyond
seem so far away.

Instead I sit,
and watch the walls slowly lighten again,
in a room that would
probably be
slightly less empty
if I weren't in it.

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