Window Watching at Midnight
by Karina Borowicz
Again the circle of green light.
My neighbor is sewing. With the two
natures of a moth, his hands
hover there, one futility
the other wing hope. And the fabric
is bunched up, from here
it’s not clear what until a shirt
dangles its arm.
Other nights it’s something
else, a square of cloth, a sock.
The work smaller and smaller till it appears
nothing’s there, but the needle still moves
or what might be a needle, and what might
be thread is pulled, up and out.