Each window is what you make of it.
This one, for instance, wears gelatinous blobs
glued to the glass – the horripilation of transparent thousands.
Wind whips along the skin of the building
a shimmer of sound, pockets of explosions
the fire-escape coils in black z’s…
In the street, a man in khaki
has a hard time of it trying
to light his cigarette,
the ghost-wail of a siren getting