Morning Window

First it was the music. Not rock or pop or rap, but piano with orchestra backup.  The window is open. A neighbor appreciates a finer reality of life.  I write.

Morning window
birdsong light breeze
on orchestral melody
these memories undefined
surreal and fleeting
yet never ignoring our past
elated recalling
your smile
warming and cooling
this love
intense and receding
the phases completed
the touch
of your hand
and always this feeling
of more
that is needed
your name is my song
now reconnecting with you
was the music
the window
the day of this morning
with you.

Where did it come from?  What window is this?  And Who?
Sometimes things come through--I know not from where.  Others, I hold close.