An Afternoon of Sometimes

A woman closes a door.
You can’t see
what’s behind it, maybe
a room or an ocean
of chaos, pages, leaves
torn from books thrown.
A woman

closes
a door and opens
a window. The Sun shines,
leaves have collided green
whispers the afternoon
has passed
a woman

closes a book, distant
traffic nearly
tells the time she hears
and looks down to the ticking
leaves the room,
a woman

closes a door.