112: 1612

Naked, listless windows used to shake with gusts
of wintry wind. Leak with floods
of summer showers, sticky June;
Rainwater spilling carelessly
onto wooden ground and unwashed carpets on the sixteenth floor.
Barefoot, we step into the lake (shallow depth, cool to the touch),
the autos speeding down below - just shapes reflecting
on the ceiling light.
From wall to wall, this glass concrete is ever-present.
Skylines all too clear to see. Ominous life beside the highway.
The room is brighter in the dusk,
Illuminated by living lights and city strife.