The Window

She looks out in the blue morning     and sees a whole wonderful world     she looks out in the morning     and sees a whole world     She leans out of the window     and this is what she sees     a wet rose singing to the sun     with a chorus of red bees     She leans out of the window     and laughs for the window is high     she is in it like a bird on a perch     and they scoop the blue sky     She and the window scooping     the morning as if it were air     scooping a green wave of leaves     above a stone stair     And an urn hung with leaden garlands     and girls holding hands in a ring     and raindrops on an iron railing     shining like a harp string     An old man draws with his ferrule     in wet sand a map of Spain     the marble soldier on his pedestal     draws a stiff diagram of pain     But the walls around her tremble     with the speed of the earth the floor     curves to the terrestrial center     and behind her the door     Opens darkly down to the beginning     far down to the first simple cry     and the animal waking in water     and the opening of the eye     She looks out in the blue morning     and sees a whole wonderful world     she looks out in the morning     and sees a whole world.