I work in a glass house.
An old granny-type of building
Peering through its thick glasses.
Inside, I peck at the keyboard trying to make
bread and butter via a computer.
There is this regular visitor
that never misses a day of my work:
A bird pecking at the glass window.
It must’ve confused it for another bird
Must’ve wanted to kiss it up-close.
Or does it suspect it to be a still pool of water?
A taut vertical lake that is devoid of any ripples.
While holding tight onto the twig it chose
It seems to observe me for a long time.
Trying to make sense of this
part of the world before flying away.
Chewing one end of a pencil I try to note
everything down and rumple it up at you.
Knowing well that your heart is a frozen, faraway lake.
