A Table by a Window on Dale Ann Drive

March 9, 2013 § 2 Comments

There is a pumpkin scented candle
On the dining room table

A green satin string
Stretched from my book
Across the grain of wood where
The stain has worn away

Oscar perches
On three points and
Sniffs the air –

The window is open
Its layers are lines in a poem
The outside, then the screen, then the glass

I say
Good morning to the chirping bug
Caught inside the world of neither in nor out

Then the inside, a room
And there are webs and
The crispy corpses of insects, dust, paint chips

Layers of sound
Birdsongs tuned to 10am
The jingle of dog chains followed by
The crunch of shoes against the sidewalk

A train – an airplane – a crow

On the table
That same adapter is coiled
Like those random things
In a house

Without a closet or drawer to place
Without a basket or box or bag

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