At the Window
Feel glad if the cold outside the pane
Is turned back as the light pours in:
Here where an abandoned web
Resembles memory, really,
(Not a mirror) reliquary for flies.
That whirl is not a hummingbird.
Maybe windows altered thought
But windowís not a sacred boundary.
You like what you see through a window
Or not, can appreciate
How wind beats the sheer pane
With fury; seen through window
Night falls, you move toward a phantom
Just like you, ephemeral.
Look for distortion in old windows!
And how new clean glass sets us free:
Optics, cathedrals, histories
Start here; thirst can be easy.