THE WATCHING WINDOWS
City of a million windows all lit up
At the hour of vermilion dusk
The void dims into deep violet
With great horizontal bands of inky blue-black
Clouds - harmless, unmenacing -
Yet determined to block the last efforts of the sinking sun.
And the windows add their puny effort -
Their muted clarinets - to the strains of
The fading golden orchestra’s brassy finale.
Little yellow squares all watching me watch them :
Close fellows staring fixedly into my bedroom;
More distant cousins already blinking with sleep.
Windows in vertical piles waiting to
Be darkened as the clock hands sweep
Up the last vestiges of day,
And switch on the tiny fiery flares
Over the blue-black vault : watchful figures,
Ever-vigilant, never sleeping, windows of the sky.
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