Through the Window

It’s a beautiful summer morning,
light white on leaves,
not the least slight of morning breeze
stirring.

Though inside air conditioners are blowing,
fans set on high,
the day is holding its breath.

It is time I'm going.

If  I look back in at the window to where I sat,
the chair I see will be empty,
the lamp unlit;
my book on the floor as I left it. 

But what if I'm sitting the chair,
slumped over there,
awaiting someone to find me
and the lamp still on?

Now do I dare to leave, dare look back in
from outside my favorite window?
And if so, what for?