Outside the window
a doe moves her ears
startled by the rev
of a passing car.
The computer screen
inside glows, not like
embers, but like daylight
captured in a box.
My hands type on
a black keyboard un
naturally dark. The
color of night? No
the night is a deep
blue. The color of
coal perhaps. My desk
looks nothing like
the tree it came from.
Wood grain painted
on its smooth surface.
The room I'm in
feels like a box. I
wonder if there are
natural squares besides
mathematics. A lamp
dimly illuminates
a dark corner- an artificial
candle that won't
flicker. How far away
can I travel from you?
I will return feet
bare on cold earth
and breath. Listen
to the sound of
trees and the sound
of your quiet voice
next to me. Telling
me that I am
not a lie. That
this is reality that
I am a part your
cycle. That I will
like all things, die
only to be born again
in a different form.
15:04
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