Swallowtale

Your little corner and
The dust spider is company.
Weaving and moving and such
The falling movements.
Over and over,
Softly spoken
Meditative daydream.
Yes you spoke of tomorrow
And shaking off the cobwebs.
But I swear they don’t exist.
You abide by the restrictions
With words no more than their definitions.
I wish I could help you,
But I know you would not survive.