This old room is partitioned by a bunk bed
Even the little window is split in two
The little desk in my room, like the floor of a valley

Even when I look up from my books into only half a window
It's always the same, hills, and power lines
Only half a sky

If you look this way from those hills
From that one narrow opening
amongst the many ordinary windows
on one building amidst the housing
You might see me, wishing to take flight

Or perhaps
You might see me watching the world, cowardly