after Denise Levertov
Olive paint of a neighboring bungalow,
white paint of the windowpanes,
sunning their bones as they frame foggy
rectangular panels of glass,
the top two reflecting,
the bottom two opaque.
Always a window
gazed through toward, gives
a reassurance of other, re-
defining solitude: our great isolation
not so fated, though sounded and sounded
by our thoughts —
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