The Window

I have not yet accepted my own death.
It sits out there looking at me from some distance away.
I know it is there; one sits and waits for all who respire.
I cannot see it, through the curtains, through the glass,
locked away with rejection and revulsion.
Perhaps it is best, not knowing the cape of your pursuer.
But, sometimes I can pull aside the fabric
breathe low and hot,
condensing moisture on the window
and with a sleeve,
wipe clear a glimpse of mortality.

“Keep passing the open windows.”
--Lilly Berry
Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving