Bird At a Window

Beyond is a brightness I am not equal to Yet what I see Turns into what I want- To bring nothing but this body To pass through The one thing between Myself and what I crave Almost done, the world a ruin Of leaves, winter at the throat, My song over and over until So familiar I can do What I am about to do While you rise from the table And walk from room to room Will remember only the sound Of what cast herself through All that glass, instead of the song That was sung until finally You would ask to know more.