Windowman

WINDOWMAN Scratching his scruff, the windowman bent to the glass and gleamed While the round of the rag squealed against the glass and tiny water runaways fell down onto frescoed walls, onto grafitti'd walls, and rip wallpaper walls Like artifacts whose solemn spasms have become little matter for the wind N' reckoning the liquid sky has been spilt and spilt again, he knew for all the water evaporated above the city today, there would be a hundred pools he could be swimming in tomorrow Why his last molecule could be the pearl of a tornado or a luncheon for trees Why he could wreak havoc or charm depending on his day..........