Distraction

Sit by your window urgently.
Close your eyes. Body move with me.
Mouth the words spoken like a dream.
Wind on the panes, cracks in the beams.

Decades ago it hurt to sit
hurt not to live. Forgotten sin.
Taking my seat it's flooding in,
Imagining being young again.

Finding with every passing year,
every hard day eroding fear,
sorrow and joy just shadows near
towers of long gone yesteryear.

Searching prescriptions far and low,
swims is nostalgia's undertow,
counters to queenside O-O-O,
pointing out all the tones I know.

Clawing it back from wasted youth.
Starlight grows tired of racing to
aid me when I need calming hues.
Hunters have all got things to do.