Time Travel Through Windows, version II

I see through the transparency of my lens

The four mysterious flats, a series of dark chambers

I am enraptured by a repetitive vision:

there is something there that excites me

My saliva runs thin and dry

Now here I am standing by my window in Marseille

Watching the sister ship of the Rafaello

Take my sister to America

From my bed I reach for my binoculars 

And follow the steam spouting as my heart heaves with the waves

Three years have passed, Mother has divorced and my sister paid me a ticket to New York

The water of the East River spins more feverishly than in Marseille

Sister is off to work; I can't see her but I know she's crossing the bridge now.

That day she came back with a letter and a tear in her eye: her beau in Marseille proposed to her.

When she left me her apartment I walled up her window

Finally I could sleep! No more rumbling of tires crossing that bridge

No more snoring from my sister

The Big Apple was mine.

Time Travel through Windows

I see through the transparency of my lens

the light unexpectedly falls into darkness

I've been raped of a vision; rapped yet still attracted

to an unfaithful image that scares me.

Now here I am, standing by my window in Marseille

Watching the sister ship of the Lucitania

Take my sister to America

From my bed my fingers search in vain for my binoculars but they are not there.

Three years have passed, mother died and my sister paid me a ticket to New York

The water of the East River spins more turbulently than in Marseille

Sister is off to work; I can't see her but I know she's crossing the Brooklyn Bridge now.

That day she never came back. I stayed in her apartment until they cut the electricity.

My vision adjusted to the dim and I felt more comfortable knowing

Now, finally, nobody could see me.