I am not trying to be a man how [“my west-facing window”]

By Aishvarya Arora
my west-facing window
is not trying

to be a TV.
when saturdays sink

behind the hills
in a blaze

fast enough our eyes
detect the earth’s

spinning, we cut
the ceiling lights,

unplug the bedroom’s
string bulbs. the window

becomes our sieve
of stars. in it, my beloveds

drift ambiguous
as new ideas. in me, old ideas

are trying not
to be landscapes.

my desires emerge
like working men

in pinnies. neon pocks
shoveling the hillsides.

Source: Poetry (January/February 2026)