by Tal Clapp

Always looking through windows here:
moving trains a sliding tripytych;
a cross-hatched diptych of balcony doors;
the broken fresco
of a glass front cafe depicting
dirty scraped snow
dripping eaves
rushing people in heavy coats
and a florist’s cart,
a block of green
broken by points of color
and the florist’s red hands
moving among the leaves and petals
so unbelievable in this setting
as to go unseen
except framed behind a sheet of glass
Leaving the tunnel
snowy rooftops and a gun metal sky,
power lines streaking black
and silver where they catch the light
above the street
furrowed with gray snow.

A smear of weak sun
sheds enough light
to show passengers’ faces
watery projections
running over the slopes and planes
of snowy roofs
and unlit windows

Slender lamps hang on long wires
halfway down a picture window
casting weak halos over each head
bent above the long counter.
Outside, a pole reaches to meet
the lamps halfway,
and slings its lines
across the intersection
marking a border
between shadow and sun
on the row of white buildings
down the intersecting street
At Noborito, waiting for the express to pass,
behind an old lady the JR tracks stretch.
People cross, and a crow
crosses overhead.

A ferris wheel and a bridge
sit still and dark,
the last thing before the low hills
huddled along the horizon
under a heavy sky.