windows

I can't just write you a poem.
It isn't a snap-of-the-finger reaction.
"write about that," you say,
"write about the window".
Write about a window?
That's not something I can do.
I can't wax poetic about those panes of glass
that mean nothing to me.
I could tell you that it's a nice window.
I could tell you that I've seen a window like that before.
I was at a Synagogue-
don't ask me why
it truly has nothing to do with the story-
and as I was sitting there,
looking straight ahead,
I saw the windows
a full wall of windows.
Each panel was eight by two
and I thought how interesting it was
that in a house of God
the windows -
with their sixteen panes each
forced anyone who looked through them
to at least attempt to see things from a different perspective.
It was nearly impossible
though I'm not sure,
I didn't try
to see the whole picture
the whole front lawn,
stairs,
and trees,
and parking lot
from one individual pane.
I could tell you about that.
That wouldn't be too hard
or too terrible.
But I can't just write you a poem about a window.