I still choose to write of them.
The sunrise is unviewable from this position.
The sunset, too.
Too much crowding of buildings and trees
to witness Sol complete his daily routine.
I don’t often spy Luna either,
with her choosing to cross the sky
after all the blinds have been closed.
This whole dance between star-crossed lovers
hidden from my view,
partially by my choice
and partially by my circumstance.
I don’t know why I choose to still write of them
when I can’t see them.
Maybe it’s because I know they’re still there.
Maybe it’s because I want them to be.
Photo by Ninette June from Pexels
This house has many windows.
One in the kitchen
that sticks in the summer heat
and refuses to ever let a breeze
pass through when most needed.
One that is
destined to be replaced
because of a crack
running through the glass.
There’s one in the upstairs bedroom
with a view of the street below
where children play
and lovers embrace
and people laugh and dance.
A different one
with stained glass decorations
hung against it
to catch the light
and send colors cascading
into the space.
And one window has
a view of nothing but a brick wall
on the other side.
Photo by Steve Johnson from Pexels