Paralyzed at the window, my eyes
are between storms, quick traces
of blue break the gray cover of sky.
My life fattens on bills.
My family’s wonderment
at my lack of ambition
grows from the field of voices
I irrigate daily. My dictionary
is thin. I pin memories
like wet clothes to windows and chairs,
observing each with a third eye.

When my back turns, crows swoop in
and pickpocket the landscape,
leaving particles of life,
I piece together
into a vague puzzlement
of bones.