gauzy pale blinds,
incandescent
from morning’s rise.
a wood framed window,
a few inches open
to the breeze.
a screen for breathing.
a bush just beyond,
its motion close,
nearly imperceptible.
a tree in the short stretch
of front yard, animated
towards a liveliness not known
here, closer to the ground.
beyond this,
across a street,
another yard,
behind another house,
another tree,
pale silver green
against mottled clouds
of September.
it is an athlete,
unrestricted
in its motion.
without competition,
in total delight
with the wind.
on a gray couch
in a house quietly
humming, i am close to
the ground. near
motionless,
watching.
each twitch of
the eye, swish
of the leaf,
a lifetime.
i remember the years
of relentless pain.
near motionless,
close to the ground,
i remember
peace.
zakschafer.com 