I prefer windows to mirrors. To see
at once where I am and not.
Yes, the heat is lovely. It makes me sad.
Many things are like this.
My mother cuts
an apple against her hand.
This little guillotine
of an afternoon more beautiful
for the violence it is always choosing against.
Will you dance, or have a piece?
It is crucial to consider a want’s geography.
For instance, yes. And the hands of time
change stations.
It takes, these days,
so little to move me.
I worry.
I remember very clearly writing this—sitting by the elevator bank on the seventh floor of my university’s math building, watching night fall through the big windows. I had work to do and no desire to do it. So instead I was thinking how lovely it is that a window shows you both your own reflection and what’s on the other side. This is what inspired the first set of lines. It also inspired the ending; I was in a raw place, and small things were taking on importances they didn’t deserve. I wanted for once not to be affected by everything so much.
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