He sits facing the pool in air-conditioned
too afraid of the heat,
too comfortable on the leather seat
With a cigar in his mouth
the glass separating him from the outside
isolated from the beautiful little things that come
with the scorching heat of the noon sun.
Those beautiful little things:
The occasional breeze that stirs his being
into a mini bout of ecstasy
The power of the sun
Beating on his body
The sight of a lone black crow
circling and it’s
timely cries to look up at the sky.
The meditative hum of a distant
machine going about its daily grind.
And then there’s the distinctive solitude
that you can never have anywhere
except when surrounded by swaying trees.
He takes his leather chair and his cigar
and steps outside.
Into the spaces that are