I am here to enjoy this window's view,
in strange light a madly mossed hideaway.  

One robin one wren contrive to call
but they unsure of solitude take flight. 
I am unwilling to exit so fast
finding a mossed pebble tight in my fist.

At any one of many thousand such windows
in our hodgepodge of tumbledown walls
what might not emerge from seclusion?

By upheaval of thought without warning
the casual blink exploded to a time
valued for relevance, lacking reality

and what need now be set in stone?
Unfurling fingers, the odd light is free.