Of this house I know the backwindow
lodges six housesparrows in the bricks
Under the sill, and they are the birds
scour these roofs all winter for warmth
Or whatever. Two are arguing now
for a few inches of position on a cornice.
How the mind moves out and lights on things
when the I is only a glass for seeing:
I stand at the window
Setting down each bird, roof, chimney
as the boundaries of the neighbourhood they make.
I have on an old blue jersey.
Every two hours I wipe off my glasses.