All life depends on the opening of a window

Life is lived on a platter;
surface with accumulations of desire
that is spent
desire that is twisted
(the side of a Rubik's cube)
into another set of colours
different combinations of want
squeezed out from the tube
of truthpaste;
harsh thumb marks on the tube.

Life is gargled on a platter;
sat on a toilet in wait

Life is uncertain weather coming in;
inhaled by a child in want
child in an adult adhering to gravity
with the force the water 
pours itself into the lake
and stays.

Life is just a ripple
bouncing into the glass
of a windowless room;
collecting comfort in corners
and measured on a line dragged from the ceiling
(a stolen edge)

Life strikes me as a 720 degree cornea
of lost attention.