Window Open, Closed

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Window Open, Closed

We enter daylight in the shape
of praise, little words

billowing through wire mesh. Across
the highway a busboy questions time

and the concept of never, while
someone plucks leaves from the bay

tree and plans her day. Roger Bacon
longed to manipulate the inner essence

of inanimate objects, to harness their force,
and a lonely man swallows prescription drugs

deliberately, releasing their attributes over time.
My eyes redden from juniper pollen as the moon

spins invisibly above our roofs, tugging at the
clouds. I once traced in a building of music

the organ’s sound to the woman I longed
to attract. Now, the window prevents the passage

of solids, but waves penetrate. I spread my fingers
across the glass, but feel no vibrations. Distant

sirens announce a procession of cause and intent,
of carelessness and indecision. Somewhere a voice rises.

This originally appeared during Bonnie McClellan’s International Poetry Month celebration, and is included in The Circumference of Other, my offering in the Silver Birch Press chapbook collection, IDES, which is now available on Amazon. A recording of the poem may be found on Bonnie’s site.

ides front cover 92915

28 thoughts on “Window Open, Closed”

  3. ” Across
    the highway a busboy questions time”

    This is so beautiful and love the picture too. 🙂

    Roger Bacon. Who was this gentleman, if I may ask?

    Thanks 🙂

    Love and light ❤

    Anand 🙂

    Like

    Reply ↓

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