What of these intentions 
 clamoring for space
 now that truth has woken 
 from its isotonic still?  
 We chose which parts of 
 life applied like we choose
 a fine chemise, finding its
 touch, its flattering color, 
 but we lived them all 
 the same.  

 There are windows half
 opened, half closed, 
 spitting out the nails 
 that restrain.  Even 
 when I didn't know 
 the difference
 I could feel cold air 
 rush out and heat slip in 
 with the flies.  I pander 
 to the woman I am, 
 unbroken 
 and relearn.  There is 
 no one to pay
 when a window opens,
 no one to pay
 when the next is closed; 
 we look through the glass 
 and endure, we look through 
 the glass and become 
 what lies on either side.





27 sept 01
M Madison