Outside My Window Xxi Poem by Frank Avon

December sunlight
is all I see,
and the residue of summer gone -

December sunlight
and the long shadows
aslant from the west.

And here I sit in splendor
inside my bay window,
warm and cozy,

words flourishing at my elbow
as if they were hardy cosmos
or roses climbing:

the poetry of John Keats,
Innocence and Experience,
religious poems of America,
The Tree of Life.

I hear singing;
with my eyes closed
I see them float by:

lumina gloria
exuding from god or goddess
for the moment, of this world,

nimbus
blown
by