The Phonecall

Through the glass
I see you struggle
Your back to me
Inside a bubble
Fumbling with the latch
In trouble

Finally, the window slides
And suddenly
Between the smears
On dirty glass
A reflection
Of your face appears

Your make-up runs
All black with tears

And all the ever-present fears
Of passing time
And winter years
Stain your cheeks
In fading sun

Her last remaining day
Has come