There’s a window in my kitchen
With a big diagonal skylight.
I sit under it to eat, drink, read,
Do my work and write invites.
I mostly don’t know the glass is there
It lets in light, it keeps me dry.
But at night it’s the window on the world
My own framed, private night sky.
I like it best when the rain comes to dance
With tapping, cha-cha drops.
The skylight turns into a stage
With a pitter-patter round the clock.