Looking out the black-eyed window, at the fountain display. Ten gushings in a row, in a bell-curved line; water rising suggestively, foolishly. Beyond, willow trees ruffling, like the burkas of women in first love. Troubled. The Canadian geese have all left. In their place: FedEx, USPS. And just now a yellow fire engine, and then an American Medical Response van… I see it all from behind the black glass. I am the courtyard voyeur, toggling back and forth between world news on my monitor, and then, through a glass darkly as it were, life in the courtyard. See these two men talking, privately, going on about a scandal in their office? I hear everything. Sometimes, a woman will come up and do her face; I am just inches away. Sometimes, I kiss her. Or a man on the phone pondering a question about his mortgage. "You can't take my house away", he's saying. “You'll still exist,” I tell him but what good is that? “We are all fish in each other’s tanks,” I'm thinking. Once, an older man approached. So intently did he look I thought he’d seen me. Then, I thought, ‘no, he’s seeing through me. I stood up and matched him, looked right back, feeling that I could see through him. Perhaps, the two seeings are linked in a helix of entwining personas. But now wait! What's this? Yellow jacketed firemen flying out the building across the courtyard pushing a rattling cart. Man on his back, IV bottle swinging, hustling him inside the back of the van, one door closes, but not the other. I can just make him out in shadows in the ambu, my wall eye, back and forth, between news of warring with Iran and the man in the van, and Iran and the van... What a carousel, no? What an internet we weave, with the ‘ulance trundling off down the road, under the yachty round gaze of Oracle HQ, servers all afire....