10,000 WINDOWS
Every tinctured curve has its iodine, its balm
and its cure. Matters of time are all that rule
the healing. As a God would say : 'Just wait.'
Everywhere I look, there is something looking
back - the glass has been jimmied in the
window, the molding cracked and fragmented.
Before I can see, I must learn to look.
Seems pretty simple to me now.
-
The light is blaring like some stupid teen's
radio noise : stuff you wouldn't wish to hear were
you given a choice. But the sun itself never asks.
And just as well - any inclination to shut it off
would be trouble swell. 10,000 windows are
looking back at me - swelling with faces and
images, freely looking, imagining me.
-
I can't swim this fast, and the tide keeps
taking me out. Noise and light and water
and wave; everything I see. The world is
vast arrayed against our possibilities.
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