A Toon Tellegen poem about the world of words

at a window

I stand at a window.

I see words coming.

Some words I recognise:

although, red, previously,

nevertheless in its flapping jacket,

truthfulness, imperfect...

Some clamber onto each other’s shoulders.

‘Who are you?’ they shout.

‘Overcast,’ I shout.

‘Heavily or fairly?’ they ask.

‘Slightly,’ I say. ‘Slightly overcast.’

I lower my eyes.

I wish I was glittering

or somewhat

or even more: notwithstanding.

It starts to rain.

Although looks up, her cheeks grow wet.

Far and wide run away.

Darkness falls.