Through the window

Sometimes I in the window see
Muted shadows, grey yet bright to me
Sometimes I in the window hear
Conversations made, whispered yet clear
Sometimes at the window’s side
Sit those I’d past in life’s quick strides
Sometimes at the window’s end
 A love gone stale; forgotten friends.

Now; caressing her wooden frame,
My gaze upon that cognizant square -
Here flesh and bone a rhythm let
The other side, a rhythm dare?
Connected thus, each limb to limb
And every quirk and foible mine,
Reflecting all I might have been
So binds. This window of my mind.