windows

I awake
to the art of painters
lovely women in all poses,
all lights,
almost touch their thoughts
through this screen
that transports me into
misty mornings
and dawns above a meadow
as, unsteady on my feet,
this screen is my window
to complement the birdsong
that calls
with seasons passing
precious days of nature
missed
shut inside;
I wait for strength
and feed my spirit
through these windows
into others' visions,
till bare feet
feel moist, green grass
and my hair blows,
dancing freely,
legs and lungs rebound,
my own, clear vision
passing through the glass
with wonder,
unfolding mystic moments...
my own eyes
drive what strives once more
to bring sensation,
thrill, amazement
from the throb of being
to those
locked inside
silent in their struggles,
apart, faded, quietly unknown.