CECI N’EST PAS UNE FENÊTRE

She looks out
the window.

It contains a day
more perfect than any day

has a right
to be.

That...sky.
That...sea.

As if it had been
directly decanted

from her lost
childhood.

A summer that stretched
far beyond infinity.

Birds dancing upon the air
in an awkward ballet.

And so it should be
she an artist to her fingertips

she had painted it
herself

on to the wall
of her bedroom.

Or to be more precise
the room she had come to

. . .die in.

The cancer had taken over
her life

leaving her
with only a little

of who she
used to be.

She kept making new
editions of herself

to get her through
this difficult time.

Hiding inside
the person she really was.

But she is losing the battle
losing her self.

Now she was...what was
the word?

Fissiparous!

Breaking into factions of her self
fractions of her self...fictions of her self.

She gazes at the window
on the wall

like a little God
creating her own world.

"What a great view?"
Death admires her

handiwork
he a bit of an expert.

"Isn't it just?"
she smiles.

"Isn't...it. . .just!"
she sighs

escaping from her pain
through the painted window.