I look out the window,
it is all I see.
The only objects clear,
the ones I can walk to
and touch.
The rest, a haze at the edge,
colours and shapes that
merge and separate,
depending on the light,
the weather.
I can’t see around the pane,
it’s dark length.
I can lean out,
but even then I feel the sill
pressed against my front.
Why the window?
Why the extent of our vision?
Why the circle in which we turn
made of openings and walls?
Why the questions?
The lack of peace and
the need for certainties –
a world all at once.
Why not trust,
in what we see and what we don’t?
What we can’t detect yet,
may it be softened by the truth
that what we see
is beautiful still.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
June 2020
Living Tree Poetry 