Marked by a series of roofs and coverings
I can only see a small sliver of sky.         twice reflected
         with my head propped on my pillow in bed. 
With my head propped on my pillow in bed
marked by a series of roofs and coverings 
I can see only a small sliver         –– of sky         twice reflected.


I can only see a small sliver of sky
twice reflected, marked by a series of roofs and coverings

                                                                                          with my head propped on my

                                                                                 pillow 
                                                                                 in bed. 


The sliver         my only visual indication of the day 
has turned from blue to white to 
                  blue over the last few minutes. 
In the language of the weather report:         it is partly cloudy. 
In the language of the weather report:         it is partly cloudy  
my only visual indication of the day 	
–– the sliver ––
                                    has turned from blue to white to blue over the last few

                           minutes.


Report 
         the only visual indication of the weather
         it is partly cloudy in the language of the sliver –– 
         my day has turned from blue to white to 
                                                                                 blue over the last few minutes.


The volume of light outside my window aside from the sliver 
is yellowed 				
                                    aged by the roofs and coverings and reflections. 


Aged by roofs and the coverings
And yellowed reflections aside, 
         is the sliver the volume of light from outside my window?


In the language of the 
blowflies, in the language of 
the rat, in the language of the spider, listen
for a story that is bigger than light,                           it’s cold and so it’s hard 
to imagine heat. 


The glass is dirty 
and appears at least as old as the light

looking out windows appears old too. 


Looking out windows appears old, the glass is dirty and appears too
at least as old as the light.


The dirty 
glass appears at least as light as looking                           out the windows appears

old
         and is old too.


And as dirty looking appears too 	appears as glass  
at least the windows 


the light is out,                  old, old.

The title of this poem comes from a phrase in The Autobiography of My Mother: A Novel by Jamaica Kincaid.