The magical brick house across the street
never looks the same. This morning I saw
it laced with sharp shadows, and now they are soft,
barely defining the object of their creation.
Driving out to the country yesterday I
saw shades of gray. Muted colors that
I felt more in my fingertips that with
my eyes.
Why does the sun look that much brighter
when you are in the shade?
My dog, who sometimes sneaks up to our
bed and sleeps all day long is today on
patrol, anticipating a visitor from the
west. Will it be the Buddha?
He started to bark and cry.
I slapped my hands and startled him.
He stopped.
I hear my wife's foot steps above me.
I try to visualize what she is doing.
Our bird looks at himself in a mirror
for 15 years and continues to sing.
Humans go to the nip and tuck doc with
far less reflection.
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