Letting the weather in

The light changes.
Gravewalker goosebumps shiver on skin.
For one, slow, second,
sky stands still.
And then,
it hits the windows.
All around, grey ghosts surround the house.
Rap, rap, rapping,
bony knuckles on double-glazed glass.
Urgent voices moan and murmur,
whispering through broken brick.
One loose latch is rattling somewhere.
One small gap, one lock unlocked.
Quickly run before it comes.
Fumbling fingers must be fast.
And throw the window open wide
and call the cold to come inside. 


Now watch the rain wet windowsills

and stain the paper on the walls
and hear the heavens howling through the decorated hall.
Each gust adjusts the curtains neatly tied
and blasts the dust, that hides on every shiny surface.
Such stagnant air so suddenly alive, possessed by pressure,
woken by the chill of this ill-wind.
Each silent corner deafened by the din
of outside elements within. 


The light changes.
Now throw the window open wide
and let the weather in.