In My Window by Dale Russell

I sit, reflected
in my window. Rain
falls from the gray, ticking
on the glass like liquid pebbles
streaking toward their grave. No sun
on the concertina. Muted cacophonies
and the smell of a hundred breathing bodies
hit my face.
Wall, wet with monsoon,
stands the alabaster sentinel,
caging the mistakers. No longer
just a barrier, now
the limit of existence
And lives that once were
sweet and sour
do not taste. The memento
in my mind, were it able
to flow away with the rain
into the sand like toxic effluent,
I’d be unchained.
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