moods

Persimmon sun,

enveloping wrought iron balconies

and rusted fire escapes,

droops, overly ripened, in a cerulean sky.

Sunlight smothers the whitewashed room,

staining the walls orange,

the air becoming tart and rich.

A plush breeze wanders through the cracked windows

flipping through the dog-eared pages

of my book and mingling with the sweat

on my forehead, awakening goose flesh.

The tortoise-shell cat and I silently study

acrobatic shadows, cheered on

by a distant sparrow’s song.

She purrs and mewls,

invested in their stunts

as I laugh and water the plants.

Soon the orange fruit will burst,

spilling over the concrete city,

casting a saccharine glow and

scrawling kaleidoscopic epitaphs

on the cracked linoleum floor.