The Window

The Window

Along my far wall
every so often a window
scrolls along it.

The girl in the window cries
out, her hand reaches for
me, and I reach back just a second too late.

Now, as her cries zoom by in
that window,
I cry too, for I have failed
the crying girl, and she hurts so much.

Finally I grab her once, and she
hold on so painfully tight to me, just
as I do, for in this lonely, empty room,
I need a friend.

But the window keeps moving
and it hurts too much for her
to hold on, so she lets go.

She cries again now, but
I have turned so that I don’t have to see
how she cries, because we both know
that she won’t risk the pain
of holding on long enough
to be pulled free.