The Breaking Window

Outward from my bedroom window the
drying field shriveled before my eyes
in the noonday heat.

Lofty tuffs of grass wave golden brown.
Sunflowers reach for the mid-day sun.
Small creatures shelter in burrows.

I gaze at my bed,
the burrow I created for myself, a small
creature huddled and hidden from the
coldness of a broken heart.

Called again to the view outside my window
tall, shadowy figure winds up, pitches and falls forward -
arms windmilling helplessly for balance.

Shadowy figures converge on the fallen one.
A burrow hole.
A broken ankle.
A pitch gone wild.

My window shatters, the glass
a rainstorm in my lap.