which poured from every window

J. M. Whistler, "Nocturne in Gray and Gold," 1876

Sometimes she wanted to push herself through the deluge
Of light which poured from every window, pushed away dark
If only for a while, and glint in through the space between all things
So she might pour herself, dilute herself, with the liquid of these other lives.

(Michael T. Stowers kindly offered these lines in reply to the previous post)


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