Avenue
The chapter I'm writing
starts with this setting
a side street that goes
for a block and ends
at a ravine.
Boxes are stacked
in the hallway.
The crimson trees outside
are still, but I know
something stirs.
The laptop screen glows
as I write.
I'll close the cover soon
but the story never ends.
A veil of clouds hides the sky.
I'll grab a quick bite
and do my laundry
for something clean to wear.
A birthday card I meant to send
lies on the floor. The friend wrote
that he moved from his house
to assisted living, his life shrinking
from seven rooms to two.
I cried when it rained last night
for a woman I once loved.
It is November
and the weather is changing.
I moved here three weeks ago
and occupied the second floor
to find my time and place.
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