Lifting the light wardrobe up.The inside pine emptiness, waiting for washed and folded, hung clothes.
The mind at ease, pleased with openness.
Discarded cardboard now brought to the bin, nudged in between an old wicker basket, grey plastic bags of kitchen waste.
I follow the taste of cold wine, after giving gifts of salt and bread, into a conversation, and out of an end to conversation.
Rising, passing the pine wardrobe, the bin. Leaning in to listen to the elevator's descent.
Bent-stemmed red gerbera, geraniums are outside. I walk through sand, see a man standing, looking up. Laundry is drying at open windows. Too much is stuffed into another bin. A broken sack of used clothes spills onto the street.
At night, I sneak recyclables into the trash, study catalogs, order online. This night I watch the sky slide blue to black.
Back and forth, between the old and the new, fly owls, and scurry mice. Fish test the depths of fresh water mixed with salt.
At sunrise, you recall the smell of old pine, and an old man, alone on his rooftop, tossing bread to gulls.
