A(nother) day at home, so
the orange lounge pants,
the green table lamp, the
simple rhythm of 
my computer cursor
tapping her dainty finger

The sun, in its afternoon 
glory, slants through my
northern window, throwing 
itself off the wall mirror, that
sends shafts of primary colours
across the study

I watch the spectrum
shift and evolve
with the arc of time, conscious
of its brief life, conscious I am
wasting my day, with such minutiae
distractions of the mundane

like citrus pants
like this, and that
like the intercourse of glass and light
like all the hours
that bells have tolled, so ordinary
but loved