We all have windows
in our houses
and behind them
pat around in almost
dazed purposelessness.
Some covered, some uncovered,
the windows may
only slide roughly
on aluminum tracks.
You feel like
you’re only on the very
surface of the earth
ready to be
pried away.
And everyone
is captured behind
their windows. Making
paths on the floor,
parallel and perpendicular.
So we struggle
against walking
against sleeping.
I guess if there is a crime
then it is being knitted
to the ground so late.
And someone has
to keep it neat
and curses in his house
at the blessed ground
in which to sleep