The curtain in the corner is
Tucked around the bars (which are
Black
And cold to touch).
I watched the planeless night until
Unlit, morning fogged the pane.
Mist.
The wet window.
In fairly far apartments
The night dance flits.
The hiss of hard strip lighting.
Hissing, silent, silence.
Mist.
A windfall feather drifts,
Brushing the window
Wet with warm bath
wrinkled fingertips.
The curtain in the corner is
Tucked around the bars.
The sounds
Which enter with the light from far
Halogen strips are cold,
Cold and white.
