Windows

Windows 1. When I open the window of my eye, I find I wrestle to open the window of my mind. In quieting my mind’s rattle, the window of my soul already open, feels the fresh air. When I open the window of my mind, I espy the dirt upon my eye. When washed clear, the window of my soul beholds. When I open the window of my soul, I see clearly the rattle of my mind and eye not noise or view from any window. 2. There’s a mark on my window on my glasses or my eyes. I pretend it’s the worlds. But when I clean my windows, it’s smaller. When I wipe my glasses it’s lighter. When I clear my vision, it’s gone. 3. Is it the view? Or more so, is it what I am able, willing, choosing to see? First published: Bourne Magazine