we spend our whole lives looking for windows, to wave
at ourselves, to spend the whole day telling ourselves
hello, hello, hello. we walk backwards in front
of ourselves on the street, examining the folds
of hair that lift in the wind, our stiff nose.
do you see them? only inasmuch as you see yourself
through them. look up, creature of the inside. look
out. the world is not an aquarium or an echo
box, the world is crying in a corner. the sun
is wrestling with the clouds, do you see? speak
and do not rewind, arabesque, and do not stand outside.
your metal walls, they are bending, the child within
she is pounding her fists to get out.
(I write poetic fragments every day, or I try to. Marching on…)