Window Pain

My mind is adrift upon a raft I’ve sewn from cheap thread and old leather, one that buoys atop the bilge-water I forever fear that I will sink into. Maybe everything looks the wrong color when the window you’re looking through is dirtied so heavily. Without further ado…

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Window Pain

Like streaks of paint

sliding down the inside face

of one little window pane,

my thoughts take on

the consistency of these oils

that stick to canvas

but not to glass.

Smeared as they are,

these ideas that live and breathe,

growing and changing

into beautiful things

and horrible things

through which the world can be seen.

Peering out,

through the reds,

through the greens,

and the cyans,

one might have trouble seeing

those things that shade

in hues galore.

Perhaps one day

I’ll see the world

clearly

and unobstructed,

no longer undone

by the lines upon

this window pane.