There are many frames here
but little between them that is recognizable.
I expected to see an outside world
maybe trees and sky and “wind-stirred” things
but there is almost nothing there.
A window is like an eye, not what is
beyond but rather the substance
of what it is. For an eye, it is the lens
the cornea, the pupil, the sclera
the conjunctiva, words we invent
to label the parts. A window is
its frame, the grid, the glass.
Is the message, the art of taking
things too literally?