A shade on my window

A winged creature crept through the air.

It swam through summer
And left orange, black, and red. 
Something in this humid air was stirred. 
I got on, sat down by an empty seat—and
It was still there, 
On the other side of the window, 
Flirting with glass and rain.

The city scrolled back under my feet, 
And I whispered, almost voiceless, a 
Disconnected tune—
Half-deliberately leaving out notes and beats, 
While my eyes danced with four fluttering wings. 
Here and there, 
Amongst us something was shared.

Then—I almost hated it

For not warning me—it struck 
Itself against the wet glass surface. 
A flying stream of silver pasted 
A wall of a thousand windows. 
Window by window—
Together they blocked the sun.

The black shape that hung on the window
Was larger than I thought—
That was 
The size of life, and 
I could almost hear a heavy thud as 
Life itself flung on some transparent wall. 
I would probably dream of inkblot tests. 
I would probably hear that hollow cry
As one anonymous butterfly, at ten o'clock
In the morning, torn itself 
Off the window next to me, 
Only to fall 
Beneath those thundering steel wheels.

Dale Chou
2001-07-13