david reaching ego

david is
finally large and
broad, by the clear
window. he has never
touched the glass,

he assumes, it would be
cool, and chipped, like
sudden stone,

under his hand,
which is red, and raw,
from the rough stone

was a first floor window,
with a great eye wide
above the ground. but david

if his raw
hand would scab over,
heal to right flesh, held
over the cold, hovering in
the morning cold-

david would see
clearly once, through
the broad window
the wooded yard, brown road,

road and the water far away

the house is warm,
like david knows it, everything,
and he has never lived
here before

but he sleeps in the wide rooms,
and knows them