Have the windows always been closed?
The blinds, I mean?
What's the point of a window with no light?
The sun, I mean?

The joy is perhaps what I really meant.
Where is the joy?

Why aren't we looking out our windows?
What's so awful we refuse joy?
Simple, simple joy.

A bird leaving its tree.
The breeze pushing the pollen.
Sounds of life and love and laughter and fear.

Oh there it is.
It didn't take very long to remember.

That's why the blinds are closed.
That's why the windows will never be open again.