Sunlight flits in. Not on its own, sneakily
yet bravely upright, saddling motes of dust
You open the curtains to look out on the garden

But all there is, is a grey brick wall staring back
and last time you checked, it was just the same: grey
And really, last week when you checked it was grey brick, too

It just doesn’t make any sense at all, though
why you’d face a window at such a plain thing
At some time, at some point, there had to be something there

A wooden boardwalk for bandying, lazy teens
Or a park with a bench for walked on, weary soules
It wasn’t born grey brick; out of nothing, ‘til today

And if there was something beautiful before
it might find time to come back home and visit
But who’s to say? So one more time you close the curtains