By Michael Easton

Giant gaps in the Venetian blinds
at this place.
Shadows from the table umbrellas
passing by my walls.
The sun hanging by a noose
about to be dropped.

Pictures of people and dogs.

Doors that are French.
Aqua pools and open courtyards.
Owls in the palm trees,
waiting for the cat opera to begin.
I am shifting from sunshine
to a cave.
I could be a leaf hidden
in the pages of this book.
My clothes are hanging
on the floor.
I am alive.