Between breaks we learn of slaves
Whose decades built a stately tomb
The color of the sun.
The classroom windows flaunt the grounds,
When I stand near them cool air rushes
Through small cracks within the frames,
Meets the radiator's heat and dies in swirls about my feet.
A bright grey sky with borders only
Where the trees and roofs arrange
Around the spotless vault.
The windows and the sky are broad
The sloping shoulders of perfection
Bend to dabble in this realm.
I squint at the bright between tree branches,
Tiny cells slip down my lashes,
Leave faded spangles on the window,
And tumble out of view.
Once beneath my plane of sight
They scale the backsides of my eyelids
With angelic ease.