barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window
in one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor.
She will look in at me with her thin arms extended,
offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.”
The image above was the morning reflection on the wall from the light coming through my window at the Sacramento hostel. All of the windows had these gauzy, lacy curtains. If the old house was haunted it certainly seemed so with the ghosts of wind that caused the curtains to billow in the evening breeze.