7 stories down from where she lives

below the floor and past the voice

that says that things are his

through carpets, talking, paint layered on the walls

and eyes that roll like dice

when she walks past them in the hall

outside her window

the sun spins with the red of summertime

and time moves so slow when she's stuck inside



there was a night last week

she saw stars from her room

over the building next door

with the hydro line tower on the roof

she thought about airplanes

and satellites orbiting low

while aspirins and drawn curtains

avoid the urge to go away

from where the old couple out across the street

dancing like actors in their open windows

for all the world to see

shuffling like papers for all the world to read

"can't you see my dear?

there's someone in that window over there..."