Window

DANIEL HOFFMAN

WINDOW

Is it no more than an eyehole

On the outside scene

Making everything

-The snow, the runaway dog,

The boys brawling and the car

Skidding against the tree-

Content to be contained.

Within a reasonable frame?

Or could it be

A casement dividing

A real observer from a view

Of untrammelled possibility,

Its pane connecting

A man ina room in

Steam heat and a battered chair

With his future

Which he could not see

Were it not there?

Perhaps it's the lens that allows

Errant swifts and swallows

In a downward swoop

Of their tumbling flight

To glimpse the man waiting

For the future to happen-

While he's caged in time

They're free to look in,

And its gift is insight.