She asked if she should wash his studio’s windows.
“Of course,” the lady of the house haughty answers.
She wonders aloud how it will affect his light.
our light burns through dirty windows–
public, prim, proper, pretty.
our view is special only to us.
three windows, open,
emitting no heat or
instead dark recesses…
eyes of a home turned to business…
rectangular dilated pupils glimpsing
no soul– shudderng in our spring.