Pause for a moment and consider
what you truly think of the window,
stared at but never seen, at worst
an impediment, at best a shield.
Is that why it gathers dirt and dust,
a vain attempt to establish a presence
that we quickly try to deny again.
Doors have an easier time of it for
we must acknowledge them, bid
them a handshake or fist bump in greeting
or farewell, always aware of their presence,
unable to avoid then as we go
about our lives, they are our keepers,
our guards and we have no choice
but to consider them if we want
any measure of our freedom.
Walls, of course, are ever present,
our refuge, our prison by turns,
and we spend countless hours
doing all we can to hide them away
to deflect their ever present stares,
their whispers about all they know
of the details of our lives that we
would prefer to share with no one.