from the windowsill I

can hear them laugh and cry

laugh and cry, one and again
with the whims of a child

occasionally they dance
to a music that shakes the earth

rumble and spin in a
rhythmic neon storm

and from the windowsill I
feel like a child in a womb

waiting, eyes closed
listening to the sounds of a world

safe and so intimately
close I can almost reach out

to touch the lips that sing and laugh
and cry from the room next door

and their voices dip and murmur
against the milky fabric of the night

beckoning, making love and
crooning the low sweet tunes of

innocent bliss.
listening to the sounds of a world

unfathomable, one that shimmers
from somewhere far beyond the windowsill