This lust is urgent.
The way the window opens
inside and outside feening for
the birds that cannot be lured
between the walls.
Ivy tangle tantalizing,
winding around the lattice,
fearing the coppice,
flirting with the hedge,
the window,
the window,
that cannot be
convinced to filter—
it is not there.
Even when it is not there
it is still called a window—
in the raised position.





