Window

Dreary drizzle digging,
running down cobbled lanes
captivates the kid alone,
save for the ticking of a clock,
and portraits looking down on her.

Standing by a window,
caught in the electricity of the moment,
floods the room in prism glow
while family altar candles flicker
and aquiline noses look down some more.

Outside in haunted Vinegar Hill
the rhapsody of tire threads on slippery asphalt,
rain in transit and thunder slow to go,
a sudden welling of conscious...
an incarnation awakening.

The witness clock
and little girl
of spider fingers
and spinster hands.