the rules of the game

she sits
sketching
something
by the window
darkness overwhelms
the conceding light
and so she sits
sketching
something
in darkness.
she could win
hearts
applause
or a firm position
in the machine
if only she knew the rules
of the games.
she could win
if sitting
sketching
by the window
were not an option
infinitely more inviting
and less demanding.
she loses
in the eyes of everyone
but she never even entered
the game
she sits
sketching
a life more lived
than her reflection
taking form
on the window
like morning dew
compliments of night.
she could win
but she doesn't want to know
what that means.