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.