i could hear her voice
as it dances through the cracks 
of my door frame.
she wants inside
and i'm just a little boy
not ready for commitment. 
her wings soar the door open
and on a silent hymn
she left her views imprinted
on these floors.
this skin ravels in her quake
leaving her to breathe in dust
of these periodically known interiors.
she spring cleans me
without a duster.
change is new
not always something
i want, and, quite frankly,
i'm not ready yet.
so as she barges in the front
i'm running out the back.
oh, to outrun the wind.