Through the Window

I am one of those types,
that stands,
holding a coffee cup,
staring out the windows
at the world.

I watch blankly,

awash in memory and
silent contemplation of
the things that pass me by.

The glass is my barrier,

one I like. I stand in the
eyes of my apartment building,
the pupils, scanning the crannies
and nooks of the busy streets.

I’m not there though. I have

no reflection in the windows.
I don’t see me staring back
at me. I’m out above it all.
I’m away.

In the coffee cup,

I have tea,
In the windows,
there’s nothing to see.