Window

I sit in my window frame
wishing for the tame moon
to show its pale face
in my glass image
but my moon has vanished
into rigid red fire

The loud sun gallops
glaring at me, daring me
to ask the question
The light should assure me
but like a cat,
my pride steps in my oaken path

And soon even the loving sun
is chiseled away
and the day turns to late night
there is the moon
clouded in my lustful pride
like my windows solemn glass
covered in lilac frost