The window is an art form

The window is an art form

The landscape changes

With the movement of the heavens

The drift of the clouds

I can see her

Paint dripping onto the canvas

Creating magic.

Nothing I have done

Has erased this picture

It follows the passing of days

The movement of stars.

When I look at the moon

It reminds me

Of sadness

An empty glass,

The vacancy of

My haggard face

Barely reflected.

Windows are a thin disguise

The image I see is never

As I imagine myself to be

Not as she saw me.

Laughing at the thought

Is a mood changer

Every window

Is a contrast

Curating a story

From a different perspective.

I can see her

In the centre of the frame,

Counting daisies

Making something wonderful,

Out of nothing.