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.