The curtains lift, electronically.

On the wall day shimmies,

Reflected from the forty floors

Of window panes next door,

A secondhand domain

Brought to me by cellophane,

But still, the lenses of a fly

Broken into winking eyes

Of light, clicking on and off

Like the flutterings of moths

Pursuing the indifferent light

For one last disappointing sight,

All the heaven they can handle

In the limbo of a candle,

Never failing to enthrall

On the beading of a wall,

One dimension's status

Enhanced with solar lattice,

Universal glories

Parroted by upper stories.