Steam from hot coffee
Swirls against chin and under nose.
Then a patron's gaze is suddenly snatched up
By an abrupt motion.
The bristles of a long-handles brush
Push suds
Across windowpanes high enough
And grand enough
To fit New York City.
White froth
Wheels in loops and arcs across the glass.
A foamy cup enjoys an absentminded stir.
The window cleaner revolves his ungainly tool
And now he plies the squeegee side
Against the field of soap.
His mouth is turned down.
He pulls the tool down, pressing.
Everything below it is cloudy
And above a crystal clear sky opens wide.
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