The small square window
Lets in
A brilliant white light
As though one
Had opened
A door onto the sun
The thin rectangular
Window beneath
Is dark grey, almost black
As if one had looked into
The bottomless cavern
Of ones childhood
The cactus on the cill
Tells us
That there is still life
That it is fed
In the times
Of both dark and light
As if we were in need
Of both extremes, and
The continuum between