Before this perfect square alone I stand
and I reflect upon its very meaning.
It’s not a box.... an outlet!-- I demand
to be let out. Outside, the stars are gleaming.
The darkness makes it seem as if they blend
together with the window, thus deceiving
a child into thinking that his hand
could touch a shining star and this believing,
his spirit leaves a hand-print on the glass.
The window is our link to the outside.
It floods us with the greenery of grass
and makes us snug as it allows the light
that penetrates the leaves of trees to pass
into our lives as well, and we delight
to share its heat. A normal window has
four corners and four sides (each side
is tangent to two corners), which then form
four angles that are measured in degrees.
These measures are important when a storm,
with raging winds, picks up the small debris,--
they make the windows strong and keep you warm,
and windows block the branches of the trees
that bend with raging winds out of the norm.
Thus windows are the messengers of peace.
At night, they are like mirrors, they reflect
our every move and thus it often seems
when we are doubled by this strange effect
that we are living in the land of dreams,
where even parallels will somehow intersect,
where star-crossed lovers find the hidden seams.
The eye-- the star, two points now connect
and hands, again reach up for silver beams.