The
dry brush outside my
window is ruffled by
An unassuming
wind.
Muffled voices enter the
yellow door.
Paul says that a life needs
direction Like a trellis wants a
vine.
I adjust the thermostat and
As the vents hum and whir,
I wonder whether
judgment Is the necessary successor to
vision,
Whether certainty burdens
knowledge,
The
shell on a turtle's back.
The voices in the
living room are a
homogeneous wall
A shaft of light enters the window
Touches on the
brush Illuminates the keyboard.