Neighbors

 

The leaves gone

My neighbors’ windows appear 

Behind bare branches 

Themselves exposed

 

Without curtains

My gaze is drawn

Mothlike

To the rectangles of light

There’s almost nothing

To see

A plant a ceiling beam

A sense of people present

I’ve always wondered 

About the apartments 

Along the elevated train 

That you can only glance into 

There’s no way to stare

Yet thousands of people

Pass everyday

At the speed of a train

Momentary neighbors

Flickering by

Is that a kind of privacy?

To be seen so briefly