A Noise At The Bathroom WindowIs frantic, wild. It jars me from sleep -from a night of half-dreams - a bird,trapped this side of the window.She throws herself against the light,blood on the glass, her heart, an arrow.I think I will never catch such a fighter,but she is tired. My hand closes over her.The window gives way with a push;then she surprises, launching herself from my open palm.
Certain LightParcels on the doorstepare smaller now,blurred paths between the lines,impossible to follow.Again, misrouted telegrams.This is the problem withopening someone else's mail.Raw history explodes; yellowed paper ribbons spill over crime blotters;the desks have no names.The words of this houseare spoken in stage whispers,and every future is ironic in a certain light.
Sta.sh
