My friends tell me they can see the sea
from their window.
Closer is harder, they say; in sight is in mind.
From my window, if I wipe it,
I see the other side of the cut through,
barred windows breaking up the brick facade.
I have never seen that nest before,
broken twigs, dropped feathers.
I back away from the window.
I do not want to frighten hope.

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