This is how it always feels.
I have been here before.
The door is still closed
Time elapses in seconds.
The door is not closed.
The wood is not splintered.
Even on the most peaceful Sunday,
I cannot stop the bullets fired
Or the shattering clock.
The man in the black coat turns.
There is a face in the window.
And a faint jasmine breeze
In the shadow of the curtain
So far away
I have been here before.
This is how it always feels.