by Kirby Wright
There’s a lady in my window. She could be my lover now or in a past or future life. The psychic with the mole at the carnival said I would find someone important through glass. “Hello, Miss Right,” I say, blowing a kiss. The lady hustles past my rose garden and then down the street. She looks lovely from behind. Perhaps she will see me tomorrow, when I stand at the window flapping my wings like a seagull racing across the sea.
Last updated November 22, 2011