The Man in the Window


The man I’ll never know,
Sits alone,
Mysteriously disguised by tempered glass,
Captured in pixels,
He longs to go home,
But he’s a prisoner in the window.

Sunny and hot, missing rain and snow,
He can’t blink,
Uncomfortably warm in a t-shirt and jeans,
He can only stare,
At the ice in his drink,
Frozen, forever, in the window.

The glass is now his pillow,
And he sleeps,
Curiously daydreaming about his past,
Seeing family and friends,
Unable to speak,
He is gone, yet remains in the window.

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