A pair of windows, so green in the dark.
A clean canvas, so pale and soft.
A cold summer, embraced by a warm winter.
A juxtaposition, too good to be true.

The heart bleeds for want of that which it cannot have.
Dreams bring all that life has not to offer.
Consciousness has lost all of its allure.

I wrote that this morning, and after about an hour of exploring my mind to finish it I don’t think I’m ready to title it yet.

Appended 03/13/2005: I have titled this piece ‘Sensitive Consonance’