zazu

Mostly questions,
That's what the music told me.
In the street just before twilight
You see the world through sunglasses,
Through wine glasses,
Through glass windows that keep you from the heat.

A girl bought an umbrella yesterday — to protect herself from the rain.
It was a nice thing to have it. This way she could see the rain falling all around the umbrella, but not have to get wet.
She was protected.

We can lie on our backs and gaze up at the sky,
Let the seconds become hours,
Allow the birds to pass by.
Let the noises dissolve into murmurs and songs,
Let the light on our faces keep us peaceful and calm.

The girl couldn't sleep.
Not when there was a party downstairs.
Not when there was music that crept under her closed door and whispered for her to stay awake.

Yesterday I walked through a town.
The town felt sleepy.
Not sleepy, as in there was no one awake,
But sleepy as in everything here seemed to move at a slower pace,
Like the long sidewalks were just giving people the space to think.

Scissors of light cut through the paper walls of our house.
They zigzag across the floor and force folded shadows to emerge.
Cutouts of snowflakes rain down from the sky and come to melt in puddles of words at our feet.