the September sun reflecting off the sandstone and red brick
long shafts of light pushing off
against the building across the street
filtering back to my window, through
the green leaves of the maple outside
there is traffic on Bryant, the
rhythm of tires on pavement, as car after car rolls by
Kitty is sleeping on the ledge by
the sill, curled up on her side
I see patches of blue through the
limbs of the tree, and the soft-white-puffs of cottony clouds
the air in the apartment is cool,
the scent of cinnamon and cloves lingers in the air…I made eggrolls
