A new poem by Jason Heroux

Little Window

I gaze through
you like a key
gazing into a lock.
Everything outdoors is in stock on your shelf.

Show us the burnt rain-bulbs on a lilac branch,
the road, a bicycle riding a man through the park.
Little window, it’s dusk,

a gritty grey wine pressed
from sun-stomped stones.
Show us, little window, where we are in the world.