Monday, May 17, 2010

St. Paschal Baylon

there are pigeons fluttering

in my eaves. I lie in my new bed

and stare out at a window

that looks into another window.

who knows what the outside

actually looks like.

skeleton fingers creep

over the sill, emerge from


have they come to reclaim

these bricks? these sagging sills?

jump out of bed, click the lock

into its proper place.

from here, I cannot see the stars.

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