unfolding in the trees not thinking

A vertical piece, like a tower.

Like something from another century.

with stairways that go up to the attic

where there is a fairy window

where there is a daydream.

where there is poetry

where there are no storms

not really

where we stop reading

where we stop thinking

where we recognize 

yet continue upwards

past the round window 

that doesn't open

towards the ceiling

so high 

it's a narrow space

like I said, it's a tower

it's intimate, close and soft

and dreamy

the round window watches 

it sees your memory

it views your dream 

oh your serene face

I know it's a cover up

I know it's a blanket

I know you are alone