Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.
It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a ‘Come in’
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.
the ragged bird panics dead flies from the window nets
it claws the glass
it is tearing at petrified flies for its meat
it is caught in their weaving.
seaside motel
the only window
filled with fog
Playing Scrabble with
their backs to the window,
a red-tailed hawk.
Ten Day Lilies
outside my window,
dressed in orange.
Out the cell window
new year’s snow has melted
lazy bird flies south.
Migration shadows
as I stand staring
from my window.
At the roof line
blue sky windows reveal
wishes only.
At her western window, she's stitching.
The needle pricks her sometimes. She moves
Her hand aside to not bleed on silk.
Even as she works, her waxed thread in
Rows appearing like commas, she sees a
Western meadowlark pounce in tall grass
Ever growing, unmowed, outside. When
She stops, peering over thick lenses
To note the meadowlark has a grub, to her
Ears come, faintly, short songs of its mate.
Reaching for her scissors, she snips a tail,
Nudges it out of sight behind a stitch.
When this row is done, she'll ask her mate
If it will do. If not, she'll turn her mother's
Needle and pull thread, loop by loop
Down to the place her mind wandered.
When you have
been journeying,
life in the house
slows to a crawl.
I go to the window.
I go to the window
again.
Yes we did did we
Would you could you
Oh go to bed
Sleep off
Be ok in the morning
How was it my skin
Had no buttons
Was heavy
By the fountain
Overbridge
The radio by the song
When you knew
What if
I don’t come back
For a lifetime
I'll be making tea