THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW
The gate never opens. The window’s so high
That at first panoramas to her appear:
Rivers, blue arcs, embrace woods and flow by;
Red birds traverse the green, and slender deer.
She’s no idea of how life’s lived below;
It must be splendid, though, so long she’s pined.
She wants embraces, but where can kisses go
Save her own shoulder, round and cool and kind?
