the frosted window
i stare at the frosted window for hours,
watching the light catch the leaves outside
and press their forms against the surface
in perfect silhouettes.
by late afternoon,
the sun clears the tree entirely,
shining directly against
the clouded glass
with no interruption,
a clear line of light from the source to my window.
the sun softens into the evening,
preparing to dip below the mountains.
for a few minutes,
it dissipates it's fleeting rays
across the frosted window
in a way that has me
remembering cloudy afternoons
spent on the coast.
for a few minutes,
the ocean is directly outside my window,
and for a few minutes,
i can think of nothing but leaving.