Remodeled long ago,
house with bones forgotten,
the window in the walls
opens onto darkness.
Did whimsy stake this claim—
glass-eyed helpless victim?
A wall on either side
obviates this portal:
no looking out from in;
peeping Toms are thwarted.
No songbird’s music heard,
no defenestration.
The strangest thing in this:
open is the window,
as though to catch a breeze
never, never coming.
Now trapped between the walls
darkness, only darkness.
Comments
Benjamin Gorman
January 11, 2012
Permalink
Still running late
This one's for Wednesday the 11th, really.