Caught In A Trap

The kettle cries out,
while I silently stare out the window.

I'm trapped in a gaze.

It's the kind where your eyes gloss over,
and you develop a type of face blindness.

Instead of people and things,
you see shapes and objects,
but you can't move.

It's a good stare.

The kind that you lean in to,
while your brain resets,
and refocuses. 

My throat is parched,
and the hairs on the tip of my nose begin to twitch,
but I stay still,
quiet,
at peace.