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
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