Tired and heavy,
An ache coiling
Around my framework,
A leafy vine
Attaching me to the
Old stone tower
With its cracked bell:
Lopsided, retired.
I dream, becoming a part
Of the architecture.

Carefully breaking
The greenery’s binds,
I stride off across the plains,
Putting on a smile;
Seeing if they can see through it.
They don’t seem to
As they’re intent on their own stories.
Grinning wrinkles at my eyes,
As I listen, like always.