My Window

The view from glass towers is the same as from gutters below -
skewed, distorted figures
as if fairies and giants create new forms bulging from old,
towering and shrinking from view,
punctured wings bent, and shoulders heavy carry the weight.
For a solitary moment, dazzling light catches perfection,
an observed perception
honestly hollowed by wind and fire,
never the same pattern twice sprouts new life,
I came home to find their toes in my window
and all they wanted was to eat
to fill-up on all I had to offer,
dine with divine scoundrels if you want to be served.