Window
During the last weeks
I’ve come to a summary
to think more at surface
or under possibles
at this end to information.
And then what continues
the way one crosses
wafts of the system
a long door and corridor
condition of the air
sea, offices, that brain of night
far-seeing darkness.
That one writes broken but equal
that something must survive
as many things read me
my destroyed impulses
though I leave judgment to tracks
or stay at the present window
its birds, black crystal
or a flagstone, the one
slating the eye in a flash
this ulterior morning
of clouds and metal
pieces of automobile.
It always continues
in proximity
therefore I crawl same
in tracks, contentions, flares
with them
as do with me.
Jill Jones
Sydney, 13 July, 2005
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