He sat by the window, the one facing north,
and watched the dark piece of dewy day
the backside of the house cut from the lawn.
He watched the birds fly from day to night
and back into day again, all in a second
and fifteen feet of airspace. And then
he watched that bit of shade shrink
as Sun climbed over the slope of roof.

He watched the terrier tied next door
snooze closer and closer to its
shadow-shrouded backdoor, until noon
forced him inside the airless gloom
of his sky blue dog house.
He watched as Sun crested the sky,
breaking today into smaller pieces,
and sliding downhill toward tomorrow,
bruising the western horizon,
somewhere over those trees,
in a glow of purple and then indigo.

Still he sat by the window, waiting
for a different kind of light to inform
this forever darkness, something that
would carve dawn into moonless ever-eve.
He blinked like the terrier, inching
closer and closer to some glowing hope,
the kind you think you see when you stare
into night too long. But it’s only another
chance to sit by the window and watch
the arc of this life unillumined.

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