Windowsill
Cinder Block
If I'd fit in the windowsill I'd plant myself in your direction, I would
use the sun's energy to make this place destination. How dare I hate
this space I occupy, I'm left to my devices, turning to light I'm
waiting for the cue, to beckon to the shoot, and break the crust upon
the soil. Lack of light the iris expands, my eyes abosorb a power coming
from behind my dim room, in my den amber and damp, as if lit by faith
alone, I've been more faithful than you know.