Face at the Window
Every day I gaze at you gazing back.
Behind you lies a store
of images and memories that I
snatch at with wings of fancy, dreams that soar
high and higher with every flight I make,
borne on the tumbling towers of the sky.
Like your first ball in Vienna perhaps,
the lilting valse-caprice
striving with the rustle of silk and gay
laughter. Or the years of exile in Nice,
where you watched your fragile world collapse,
staring with sightless eyes at the torpid sea.
Are your conjectures as giddy as mine?
What castles do you raise
from the blur of my shape? Easy to take
a twist for a smile, misconstrue a face.
Tempting to prance on the head of a pin.
Every day you gaze at me gazing back.
Les Brookes writes poetry and fiction. He is the author of Gay Male Fiction Since Stonewall (Routledge 2009) and has published two novels and a collection of short stories. He lives in Cambridge UK. Website: lesbrookes.com
Grand Little Things 