I watch the airplane,
Thirty-thousand feet above,
Disappear
And reappear
Between the gentle folds
Of the 100-year-old glass
In my windowpane
A low angled light,
Shot from the distant sun,
Finds its way between my red curtains
And forces my thoughts to bloom.
Sometimes I think of what is in the world,
And then what's in it for me,
And the desire wrenches my heart.
And it hurts,
Oh God, it hurts.
Hurts so that I might cry out,
But I hold my tongue.