The kitchen window

The kitchen window,

a frame for the day's last gasp.

Sun, a harsh orange stripe

on the neighbor's peeling fascia.

Then it slid, quick,

like a knife drawn back.

And the room filled with

that blue, flat quiet.

Outlines sharpened, briefly,

the edge of the counter,

the sag of the curtain.

Then dissolved, just shadows,

cold settling in the corners.

Another day,

undone.