Thoughts

I tell my secrets to the window. 
The glass absorbs my thoughts, like a dream catcher, 
shells me from the outside... (inside,depending on the day). 
And reality stays hidden under the guise 
of an illusion
for a minute longer, like a reflection on the water, or a painting on the wall - alive and distant. 
In that world, people walk lonelier, 
move mouths without sound, 
follow the day without time, 
rhythm without music. 
From behind the window I observe the pattern of living, 
colossal before the window lens:
a microscope, 
a world inside the tv screen.
Life out there... (or inside) 
keeps turning as it does, in its whirling way, 
day 
after 
day, 
with coffee cups and newspapers, 
laughter, fears, and doubts.
And I sit and stare, 
-almost noon inside my head-
savoring the seconds until I, too, become

a number.