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a melancholic ennui
Folder:
backburner results
The sundial leans into the wrong hour,
its shadow spilling
like ink across the stones.
It marks not time,
but the absence of it.
Shadows wander about
or stand their ground,
as if unsure
whether to stray or stay.
They carry the weight
of conversations
that never began.
Would you surrender forever
for a moment alone?
The question drifts
through the courtyard air,
unanswered,
flinging itself into the wind.
A woman at the far bench
traces the rim of her coffee cup
as though it were a coastline.
Her eyes follow
an invisible map —
one that leads
only back to here.
Somewhere,
a child’s kite
hangs motionless in the sky,
its string slack,
its colours fading
into the same
grey hour.
