I hate windows! Give me a balcony to heed the world.

I want the rain to wet my skin, the wind to tousle my hair, the hot to inspire sweat and the cold to shiver. I do not want to observe through a pretty picture window. Let me be the lone figure stopping by the woods on a snowy evening.

The balcony should be just high enough that I can see the faces of my fellows and hear their voices but not make out the words. As in opera, their actual meaning never rises to the music.

And, should I fall, have a decent chance at survival. If only to inform one more poem.

(I intend to be at the Fly Leaf Books open mic on Thursday and hope to read a couple of my poems from Brazil. Join me!)