Windows

In house

~with widow’s walk~

In attic

–damp and dusty–

dead but alive

–seeking but lost–

I lifted ancient blinds,

and found a barred window…

painted shut and caked

with years-thick dust,

and though allergic

to work

(and dust)

I sawed at the bars

with emery boards

—day into night

and perpetual next—

until time ended

relatively,

and I broke through

I knew not where–

–cutting iron

unexpectedly

effectively.

Scraping layers

of grime from glass,

I rendered the

pain

crystal clear

chiseling at coated sill

—end to end—

to jimmy-wide the window,

to revel in possibility,

to flex my limits,

and sticking my neck out,

I felt only the

rain

until

I pulled back inside.

(behind polarized glass)

foiled the wrong way,

dividing the whole

into unlikely quadrants

–reflecting only

partitions of others–

in chaotic mosaic,

and I realized I was

all wet.