Blur

I have become a window-glass, wind-splashed by rain.
The outside view blurs like words disappearing
from dreams. With my reflection gone,
I have no more thoughts welling-up from springs
that burst forth lyrics from my head.

The window glass is immobile like I am, battered
with heat of dry wind over a wilderness,
grass-less, where thoughts die like cattle,
their flesh wasting away. Then, the rain comes
to wash away the skin left clinging to the bones.