Osmotic Pressure

I pour a little light out
Through the crack in the blinds
And the two fingers spreading,
Trusting the hardworking windowmen
That the glass will hold the heat of my breath
And trembling heart
Within the arms of its temporary embrace.

But the night is dark
On top of cold,
And when I let the blinds snap back I know
That all light, too, is destined to become heat.