That East Cliff Apartment

Geometric shadows move slowly
across the blinds
of my West facing window,
undoubtedly created 
by a well meaning fence.
Protection becomes displeasing aesthetic.

No matter.
Mindfully I meditate on what holds 
my gravity...

My reading chair stretches 
its legs and settles in for a story,
though I am distracted by the magnificence
of yawning magnolia blossoms,
visible through the open front door.

The pages of my book call
to me by coughing up dust,
collected from a year of detritus
falling upon it with each new day,
only to be seen during this hour.
Particles dance down rays of light
in choreographed movement 
towards entropy.

I'm wrapped now in the warmth 
of orange valour.
My chair has seen many decades
and I begin to read, losing myself in
the archetypes of man and woman.
In red shoes I run with the wolves.
Wild indeed.

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