Caged in the Den

Eight months bound in this single space—

Kitchen, office, living place.

Walls press in, dim-lit and tight,

A promise stretched beyond foresight.

Cabinets stand before the glass,

Stealing sun as days drift past.

Tiles wait, bamboo unseen,

Patience frays where time has been.

But outside—snow-blind bright and bold,

A world untouched, crisp and cold.

Dogs weave paths where white drifts deep,

Frolicking free where I can’t leap.

Marley whines, her tail held low,

Daddy’s out—she lets me know.

The Gator’s gone, off to repair,

Her daily ride—no longer there.

She waits to roam, to track, to run,

Through Marleywood, her kingdom won.

Where trails were carved by paws and boots,

And echoes linger in the roots.

Gunner waits with steady eyes,

Boomer paces, tracking skies.

They nudge me, hopeful, near the door,

Dreaming trails they've run before.

A hike could call—but not today,

The work piles up, the leash won’t play.

Four at once, a tangled test,

The yard must do—it's for the best.

Kona chases, toy in flight,

The others watching, tails held tight.

A maze of prints, a frozen trail,

For moments, walls and weight grow pale.

Yet stepping back, the dark returns,

A den that traps, a light that burns.

Cabin fever claws and stays—

Still, the sun will find its way.