These beautiful little things


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

In between.


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