Let me swap your window view with mine.
Better yet, let me open a new window
anywhere in the world:
Swap my clouds with the widow Lotta
that delights in the sight of six boys skipping
on the edge of an Amsterdam canal
who then furtively disappear into
the dark wide open doors of the
Sex Palace Peep show across the street.
Swap my lonely rainy sky with Bess the
matronly Cotswold poet courting Badgers
to fight over tossed scraps of Savory Pie.
Swap my lulling dark with Akhenaten
gazing at the sacred African ibis as they
chant and soar over the Pyramids of Giza.
Exchange my blue with Jean Paul
watching yellow turn red to gray night
in time-lapse from his Cassis maison.
Barter my coffee for Rakesh’s tea
and his Hindi copy of the Yajur Veda like
a still life posed on a blue window ledge.
Ransom unbargained Chiara’s Roman tableau
in red clay tiles surrounding a blood bell tower
beautiful enough for a young Da Vinci’s pastels.
Exchange breaths with Kiko as she panics
when a Tokyo bullet train convulses through,
a reminder of both our unstable lives,
until memories of Mary dancing in the
downpour of a Manhattan summer shower
fall through the hospitals, the last goodbyes—
until there I am, a scared little boy
starring out my bedroom window
awaiting dawn for another chance
to splash in the blue blue kiddie pool,
walk in the un-paned grass, shouting
to the white sky that follows me always.