dust

A hallway I see and I've seen
that leads to what I cannot recall
the windows are stained
with the age of the dream
of a boy who bore a free wing
in the midst of the fall.

Sunlight is altered and yellow
to see the hall of forgot
with pictures and stories of then
and the wear and burden of when
the leaf and the tree were lost
to the quiet beat of the rain.

A door I find along the walk
masked by a still shadow
but lit upon by the sound
of a gentle laugh under storms
small and gray the passage sits
to wait the hand of my traveling thought.

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