I am lying on
The couch, staring out of the
Window. The view is

A flat plane of brick,
Metal and windows, office
Towers tall from the

30s and 80s.
There is some marvel and so
Much mundane. You know

There’s depth, that it’s not
Just flat, but when you are still
You can imagine.

The lights are off at
Home, but there, across the street,
The same floor is on.

Fluorescent arrays
Shine sterile. They beam and bright-
ly stain the aimless,

Breeze, roaming city
Airs — who bring a calm too rare.
In my home, trying

So hard to be dark,
The glow soaks into my room.
So I accept its

Presence, pressed like a
Hand against my face; I em-
brace their brazen reach

As a protective
Attendance, an unwanted
Watcher I must bear.

At night my mind has
The freedom to surface and
Muted roar in an

Endless protraction
For air, a gasp of infin-
ite inhalation,

Like the subway grates’
Persistent vacuum, trying
to pull me under.

I try to tune it
Out. With some peace, again I
Gaze at the windows:

Grids of lights that slip
Behind the metal and brick;
Ceilings made of foam

Drop tiles in both
The buildings new and old. They
Lay in a silence,

Vast, confused and blank.
I look at the brick again
And feel its stoic

Touch. The subway grates
Disintegrate and their dreams
Collapse in a soft

Boom. Suddenly, the
Lights die and a mum completes
The scene with immense

Speed. My eyes eclipse
And I cannot see. The mind
Drums, looking for some–

thing. The darkness is
Perfect. I can clearly see
Chaos bubbling

Forward: vision turned
Cancer in the great blackness,
Restlessly blooming.

© 2025 Calder Kusmierski Singer