you left

The rapturous wind -
leaves pressed onto windows
like the years spent between
pages of a hardback book.
They are captured
by cobwebs;
where disillusioned spiders
remain dissatisfied,
their silver threads
tattered and torn.

It dances in the street, jumping
from telegraph poles to lampposts,
Chasing newsprint up
along small garden paths
punctuated with weeds
and neglected toys.
Rattling the letterboxes
of run down houses,
creating commotion,
dogs bark.

It drags a velvet curtain
of thick clouds
over an open window,
across the grey sky,
covering winter’s sallow sun.
Moving towards a hazy horizon
and away.