No way in


Something there is
that does not love a window shut.
So I opened mine,
invited in sunlight, cry of gulls,


salty scent of bay,
tide in retreat,
not sloshing rocky shore.
I left it open even during rain,


shivered, clutched tea with both hands,
sought a bit of heat,
wished the whole coast inside --
gulls, salt, sea,


you leaving him for me,
to put down doubt,
bow in concupiscent splendor.
I waited, alone,


watched shadowed sunbolts
spin among clouds, dance past
the half-glassed-in solarium,
refract, bounce back,



make me understand neither tide nor sun
nor you
could ever come completely in.


So, in winter's darkest month,
fingers cold,
I latched my open window
closed.

---

Timothy Pilgrim