In a chair, a window open wide
will qualify as outdoors-

gusting winds and brief drizzles
lock my cell door of doubt
the siren song of birds won't
lull me from self imposed prison

eyes can see the idle face,
gray storm clouds hover
the chimes of beckoning call me,
rung by the winds of deceit

A hummingbird might hover out-
side my open window ignored
blurs of blue and purple curiosity
beckon eyes that don't quite see