Windowpane

Windowpane Sitting on the rocker above the street Chair takes its station with the man, old and weary Placed there in time to look out side A broken window holds them both fixated on the day Cracked in several places caused by storms and age Five or ten passersby stream past in a flash They can’t see him due to the tinted fractured glass Events spirit them away in any case, in any event One cannot be preoccupied in the mundane or number of the day They seize the moment and shrink in size, meander down The wharf is a welcome warm distraction with sun and sea Out of reach, out of sight, at a distance, beyond the old man’s vision The window glares complete indifference to these matters Down to the shore men march against the storm With nowhere else to go they come and go again Maniacs cry for such lives as theirs Someone used to bring reports and papers To forecast disasters and read about times gone by But no more; that time has passed, eclipsed by history Old man gets all his news by looking through the window Through it life stares back through cracks Rising past the damaged world into the bungalow It seems like everything is somewhat fractured Like humans, window and the pane, will crack more over time Mediators to the universe, a microcosm of themselves They see all things unfold although distorted Real things happen every day out there Old man catalogues them all in a glancing gaze On his rocking chair beside the window His glaring friend in pain is there To share his ways and gather up the moments