The window I first saw as green,
Flickered, became, bright yellow
Then purple; it now shows me black –
Or – had I eyes to see it clearly –
Much worse – it might be blank.
The spirit that crosses mountains
More easily than soldiers,
That passed whispered “darlings” and
“Forevers” between us in secret
Dockside rendezvous, still
Dances in her, spills endlessly
From her in silken sheet smiles,
Trembling on the brink of more:
Adventure, climax, sin, betrayal.
It was never the window altering:
It was me: me and the little hand