Worn windows watch with patient sight,set deep in stone once cut to stare:they mark by day and peer by night,glass eyes affixed in masoned squares.Each pane reflects a borrowed face:a bus, a bike, child skipping high;the building holds its stony gazewhile fleeting lives go flitting by.Some eyes are dark, some shine out bright,some seem to sleep, some beam or glare:they’ve seen new lovers hugging tightand people rush to who knows where.I’m caught within their mirrored hive:my own gaze shifts and briefly stays.Though those old eyes outlast my life —I blink, walk on. They look away.
