windows
have a cruel trick of catching me
(face pressed to the pane)
on their wrong side
once, caged in comfort
I saw through a window life
passing me by
I ran out
but it was not inclined to wait
for me – it had moved on
solitary now, I peer in
to other people's warmth
and wonder
how the house you live in
with someone you love
becomes a world of closed
windows
© 1977 by Beth Stevens
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