Window

Window

Sand, of all things, melted.
Poured.
Cooled.
A significant stage in our evolution,
dividing in from out,
allowing a vision of the latter.
Invisible, until you tap on it.
Cold is held back, to an extent.
Wind, insects, rethink a flight plan.
No oceanview without this.
It raises rents. Lets you drive.
De-prisons a wall.
God looks at one, seeing us.
Incubators, the room they are in.
The opposite of a mirror.
Eyeballs.
Sand, of all things, melted.

I breathe on this one,
writing your name in the steam.
This is what I first saw you through.
And ever since.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009