Barely a Window, but still

It is barely a window any longer.
Salt from the sea has greyed in each pane.
Algae grows here and there in tendrils.
Ten generations of seagull droppings litter the cill.

And yet, and yet, light shows through.

About this poem

About a window in Provincetown, MA. About depression. About spiritual darkness. About suffering of all sorts. We live for the light.

Tom