A finger presses MUTE
sun glare silhouettes
a dying plant
streetlight
stop sign
leafless sycamore
empty mailbox
canadian geese in file
a leashed dog dragging its owner
two runners with white earbuds
momentary vehicles broadcasting phosphorescent joists
as reflections play life on the windowpane
and all the world is stuck inside two centimeters
Do you write each day?
I wish. Eh, don’t we all.