The window is quiet.
It’s been a while
Since she gazed at the gate across the street.
Nowadays, she doesn’t open but
With a sudden clap and a high pitched shriek.
Who could blame her?
The sky has fallen away from her trance,
The leaves have let the concrete in.
The sounds are shrill
As they sometimes are
When a wandering fever rages within.
The voices grow loud,
Dust gathers storm –
They push at her with brutal force.
She pulls, she fights,
She cries, she begs.
They shatter her final lintel hold.
The window is broken.
She’ll never again
Gaze at her gate across the street.
He lies as her –
One rusted arm stretched out to meet.
* * *