What Peeping Tom Knows
In the silence of his gaze
in silence surrounding women
he beholds, he feels the touch
of yearning, like a hand once
laid along the curve of a face.
A hand no longer there.
He hears the pulse and flutter
of longing, like a bird wings
beating in the rafters of old barns.
Loudly, startled -- then soft,
softly as feathers that descend
through shafts of light and dust.
In each window he peers: feathers,
feathers -- he watches them alight
finally, at the bottom of his eyes.
Charles Levendosky
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