Window

By Robbi Nester

Nothing in the darkened pane.
No moon.
I hear racoons nesting in the oak.
Maybe if I watch attentively,
I’ll see their eyes, red planets
rising among new leaves.
Across the road, the pool’s
lightning blue glow.
No one swims.
With another eye, I see
the window of my room
in Philadelphia, through the blades
of a still fan, itself looking out
on pulled shades, and the blank
driveway, garbage trucks
funereally patrol.