Window

A holly branch,

dodging shade,

seeks its share of light

as I, impatient, stare,

unable to rearrange

chance and change

that a winter made.

An artist invents a world

that remains the same.

The permanent keeps us sane.

Even stars exfoliate

gladness like some inner light expelled

to mend a bad moment gone more sad

that the universe, so big and easy! went mad.

Kirby Congdon