A poem for my kitchen skylight

 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.

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