Every domestic moment from every window that's got the light on,
in the space of time that sits heavy before dusk.
During what is hopefully the last dregs of winter.
Everything is bleak and blue.

And I can peek in to that indoor yellow glow.
I can glimpse at a moment of them
and the objects they choose to display.

And at the same bored man through the clean plate glass
of an auto shop window, as he scratches an itch on his neck
and watches a tiny television on a desk
with a million stacked things on wall shelving behind him.

That same yellow glow tugs at me like something is actually inspiring.
Every shape the world makes is a little bittersweet-

and there is a reason why bittersweet holds it's suffix.