My window has two frames –
One holds glass; the other, net.
The glass is my circumference of safety
It keeps my cat in.
Sometimes, my cat crouches near the glass
She yaps, trying to call upon the gentle sparrow
Flying in short bursts,
A nest right below my window,
Where the cornice interrupts
The vertical confines.
(There is only so far an eye can see,
“Perspective limits vision”,
My cat says, looking at me.)
The other frame – the net – is more porous.
It lets in some breeze,
Often littered with the aroma of burning garbage
Or dust from the house that is yet to be built.
(“How can a net let things pass?”
My cat asks,
“Isn’t a net meant to trap?”)
I see this house – unfinished – from my window
Cement, bricks and wood lie upon each other
In anticipation of precise geometry that holds within it
The promise of fortification.
A crow flies under the impermanent roof
Its cawing, a sign to others
That shelter can be found
In the incomplete.