Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Woman at a Window

I see her as a portrait:
caught behind liquid transparency;
framed; tear-eyed; her pale face
distilling weak light.

As if suspended,
she stands at her window for hours.
The disintegration into sobbing;
the lip-trembling;
the glassiness of the stare:
these draw me to spy
(no, too harsh a word!) to study her,
even though I wish it weren?t so.

If I could erase the distance between us,
we might converse about death,
violence, a star-crossed affair
or whateveritis
that?s causing her to cry.

And if I could tell her that we?re alike,
our worlds equally askew,
I might see reflected back at me
someone other than myself.