The slats—
angled ribs
against the night,
light drips through
like water slipping
between fingers.
Inside—
a chair, red,
a gesture of waiting.
Above it all,
the building listens,
holding its breath.

Brookline, Massachusetts
The slats—
angled ribs
against the night,
light drips through
like water slipping
between fingers.
Inside—
a chair, red,
a gesture of waiting.
Above it all,
the building listens,
holding its breath.

Brookline, Massachusetts
i like these, Dave!
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Thanks!
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Both beautiful and intriguing.
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Thank you.
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