class four

white sill
paint cracking, debris of years and weather
sun bleached and glowing
opened wide to the world

nudged between shelves and sky
one foot finds the other, pushing spiderwebs
tearing noiselessly
the wind moves through, around me
prayer flags dancing
rooftops, powerlines
blue of sky like deep water, open mouthed
cradling scene

back inside, the wood ceiling looks like
a home i've never been to
barn raisings but knowledge
feet casting shadows on yellowed wood
(were those knobs branches once?)

the glass pane filters light softly
glare of lights reflecting
a bug crawls, frantically trying to escape
the inside that looks like out

on the floor there are squares of light
stretching over a plum rug and worn floor
new and old, coffee and neglect
this is the sort of place i'd want to call mine
if the world outside weren't calling me elsewhere

a child, imploring redundantly
"c'i have one? c'i have one?"
even in solitude, life keeps moving
reminding us it's always there
stop--
take a picture.

smell of burnt pumpkin seeds
laughter, a dog's eyes meet mine
child's voice and answers swelling
see his hands move and eyes widen
you can't see him but you know