the sun comes in the door
  flinging it open with light.
   it blinds the eyes  and
    sears the soul,
   crisply brittle  falls
  the sudden night.
 through the openned door
  stirs the wind
   giving ashes wings
  only to settle back into finer dust
 back to the floor clinging
  to the walls, to the couch,
   to the pictured frames and mantles,
    cluttered in wothlessness,
   imprisoned by the room,
  made dreary by the windows,
 highlighting the absence
  of outdoors.  
             Out! Doors!
   Stir some foot within!
    Kick this dirt outside!
   to new soil, ancient soil
  Fling it!
          to the sun deep ends.