I wrote this poem as part of a course about 18 months ago. The challenge was to base a poem on the view from the nearest window. Mine was a skylight. 

An Attic View

I treat windows as mirrors

I see only sky.

An open patch of grey on grey

The sound of blinding light

An arrow pointing right

Beside, around, above me.

It is a sign,

A godsent omen

Of the hollow empty feeling

The cabin in my chest.

How much of that is loneliness.

How much just me?

I fill it anyway I can

With birds and words and tea.

The sunken coffee smell

Connects me to you

With a white trail, a straight cloud scar

Slashed the cheek of silver in broken two.

When I was in my falsest form

I would fly the metal bird

Up high, cased in recycled air

My corpse against the window,

Aching to get out, be there.

Instead I watch from down below,

Reaping what some others sow.

My bones are aching but to grow.

Growth is the flying feeling.