in the wake of
the window a layer
of breath as a
young girl falling in love
with the backyard
remembers how easy
her breath had passed
    through a barbwire fence at
a meadows edge.
 where a sky might be blue
 she savors each
 thumb of poisoned ivy
 leaf a hand held
out to shake and shaking
 in a cold wind.
the skys color in her
other she loves
 the corpse of a window
weeping in rain
with infinite panels
and long black drapes.
 the window is opaque.