Your Front Room

Given enough time, and space in which to write,
a poem will emerge.
A poem will emerge in space,
given time. While
giving you your space, I
face a window north, seeming always full with white
sky, buildings grey, street and grubby
snow
underfoot under feet,
window white as.

Window white as
the page on which to write
'I love you,' that message
stamped in a bank
into the night
outside our window, brave feet declaring.