A window can tell
It was like this when the liquor arrives:
Little by little the waters started to drift as feathers
With unusual ears for listening; I imagine a payload known
For whispering words, each a paean to a lost secret.
And I begin to wonder what happened to the stones
On the beach which turned the night sky into a nursery of tale?
Then I take the next move asking: Did they suddenly
Lose their guard; confess their lightness to the window?