singing wind chimes

its not done.

when you walk away your time stays with me.
as well as the twelve hands that gropped our eyes with dented palms,
and the faces of the woman who breathes in the morning sky,
slowly exhailing afternoon breezes.
the color that fills your eyes
refurnished the walls of my fifteen faces.
creasing the lips of the mask pasted to the cieling
opening her eyes
dividing the room into two
the shadow and the light.
the shadows crawl, and the lights pace.