Outside my window

Through turbid glass panes

with chains of dust on them

It is night and I can see nothing of

the outside world curled up

in a moonless mask of pitch black.

I hear the crescendo of cars and bulky trucks

that move somewhere out of sight.

And I am separated from this world by

A wall of dirty darkness.

There is an entire city

that I cannot see

except if I imagine it. But it’s no fun

to imagine without touching and tasting and smelling.

It’s like a film. I’d much rather

be in one than watch one on the television

plopped on my soft couch, my belly

cushioning crumbs of finished food.

My window, like a television, is off, though.

And, till day breaks, I am left

to assume the world behind the blankness.

Meanwhile, its hum coaxes

Me to throb my own tune.