Reflecting the World

David Thornbrugh

Magritte’s white clouds

are trapped in a window

of a brick house in Amsterdam.

Somewhere a museum guard

looked away,

the clouds slipped out

like a sheep skipping away

from a flock.

A cloud grows bored

of being symbolic

or even surrealistic,

yearns to be reflected

from a four-paned window

cracked open at an angle

to let in a little evening air,

odor of exhaust fumes,

dog waste,

onions frying in a bowler hat.