Beyond the Dark Windows

Windows After Ten

1I. From Here
From my window the city seems folded away,
a coat hung carefully behind a door.
The square below holds empty benches.
No footsteps stitch the pavement together.
I write nothing in my notebook,
as though darkness were a fact
I had checked.
Across the avenue, a curtain lifts
and settles before I can decide
whether a hand was there.

2II. The Yellow Rectangle
A window opens on a kitchen.
Someone divides an orange into moons,
slides half across a narrow table.
Two elbows lean toward the same small plate.
I cannot hear their conversation.
The glass keeps every word.
Still, the offered half travels farther
than its few inches of scratched wood:
from one person's evening
into another's.

3III. Below the Roofs
The elevator hum climbs through our wall.
A suitcase rolls across the landing.
Somewhere, a broom gathers the day's grit.
Somewhere, a chair scrapes back for someone.
These sounds arrive without their owners,
loose threads passing under my door.
I had called the building silent
because none of its voices
had spoken my name.
Now I leave a space beside each sound
for the person I cannot see.

4IV. Another Window
My own room makes a pale rectangle
on the dark side of the building.
Perhaps, across the avenue,
someone watches me bend over this page
and wonders what keeps me awake.
I cross out nothing.
Not because I know each story,
but because the windows hold more
than I can read from here.

The Uneven Skyline

1Dario set his sketchbook on his aunt's balcony rail. He wanted to draw the city after ten, when the buildings became clean shapes against the sky. For a school art collection, he had chosen the title Empty City. From this height, even the crowded square looked deserted.

2He shaded the building opposite in one smooth block. Then a kitchen window brightened, interrupting the neat darkness. Dario reached for his eraser. The bright square looked misplaced, like a mistake in a pattern. He could leave it out; nobody checking the drawing would know.

3Before he erased it, a person appeared behind the glass carrying a bowl. Another person pulled out a chair. Dario could not see their faces, but he noticed how the chair waited while the bowl was set down. He rested the eraser beside his sketchbook.

4His aunt came outside with two cups of water. “Coming in soon?” she asked. Dario nodded without looking up. Below them, someone wheeled an empty cart toward a service entrance. A balcony door opened farther down the block, and a blanket was lifted from a railing. The city had not become busier while he watched. He had begun to notice what was already happening.

5Dario added the bright window. Then he drew the cart and the small shape beneath the blanket. The page grew less orderly. A few marks were too small for anyone else to recognize, but removing them now would make the drawing less accurate.

6At the bottom, he crossed out Empty City and wrote Even Now. His aunt leaned over the page. “Not as quiet as it looks,” she said. Dario moved his cup so she could sit beside him.