i exchange my money
for a pricey window curtain
thinking that it will provide
a window of opportunity
for my pride to be hoisted
higher like a flag
but the curtain blocks
those pretty clouds that you send
on my way through my glassy windows
these clouds, often come
with that silver line
if they end up dark and stormy
transforming my living room
into your school, teaching me to hope
chiselling, also, my extra conceit
and now, i do not yearn
for a curtain to crane my pride
enjoying what you consign
especially your sun that sits inside
my humble span
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