There is a window on the wall.
Light put it there,
cast across the room,
and I like it.
A window
that finds a place like that.
The room needed
another source of light,
more radiant
than a flash of lightning,
coming inside,
making the heart race.
Perhaps another time
a window will appear on the next wall,
with change of time, season,
a year that holds a different venue,
and I’ll see the world
from every corner,
see the night invade with stars,
the morning come with dawn,
and thank the architect
who makes them,
out of shadow and the sun.