Window by Emma Jones

His sadness was double,
it had two edges.

One looked out -
onto skylines,
and streets with ice-cream
men, and cars,
and clouds
like cut cotton.

The other stayed in
to watch
his memories unbuckle
and his hairs
all repeat
in the washstand.

Both were impatient.
Sometimes they'd meet
and make a window.

"Look at the world!" said the glass.
"Look at the glass!" said the world.




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