Furtive window
often makes my skin glow
Scorching winds flow
as the days grow hotter and stronger
Flirting rays caress my longing arms
and lonely palms
and pounding malaise
I could live again with curtained windows
like I did so long ago
Light refracts and reflects
splits and dissects
into confusing colours
and the memories of arrogant summers
and humbling gutters
But Richard of York did NOT give battle in vain
and although just a show
one’s perception of a rainbow
is not a spectrum of pain
or a pane neglected and stained
It is an elegant projection of rain
in anticipation of a sunny day
It is the emphatic rejection
of windows that weigh
heavy
static
and grey