Window
Sometimes I inhabit a world
that is no larger than a room.
During long nights,
the sky comes framed
within a window,
a patch of distance hung
on a wall. I lay there,
looking out into an opening
of planets, stars, galaxies,
into a vastness that seems
to confront me with the terrifying
face of eternity, an endlessness
where there is no refuge,
no off ramp
to a merciful mortality.
Even when I close my eyes,
I can feel myself being drawn
further outwards, beyond sleep,
beyond a destination.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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