Peeping Tom

The window stands open.
Strangers look in.
Neighbors too, and figures from history,
a brief, partial snapshot
of a life behind walls.

About this poem

I think sometimes, of how strange it is for us who write of our lives. Readers get to peek in, but see only the smallest little bit, with so much still unrevealed.

And yet, over time, an intimacy develops.

Tom