Words appear in the mist
behind a window, someone looming in red,
tracing letters with his finger. He appears
blurred through his writing, his message
private, backwards.

From her bedroom window a woman waves. I thought
she waved to me: she
cleans the glass
with a white rag
stroking side to side.

A man is making ridiculous faces
from his window over the calm harbor.
I realize he is singing.
Leaving a trail in the sand
a boy bulls a blue rowboat by a rope,
and presses it into the water.