reflection
A slice of time
unencumbered by hope or expectation
A dash of color
A memory untold.
And yet,
I hold you in my hand
Like precious jewel
not to be lost
Amongst the other affairs
Until tomorrow
or beyond
left in the attic of my mind
the trunk that holds the others
within cobwebs and silver fish
in silent slumber between the eaves.
And wake I might
Or not.
Keeping you close to my heart alone.
(c) 2017Iris B. Struller
I sit on the dock
And watch the woman across the canal,
who's just claimed one of her newly purchased colorful Adirondack impostors,
placed on the stone terrace, recently finished,
around a fire pit
rarely used
in this Florida heat.
I toast her beer with my wine
across the canal
and compliment her on the work so nicely finished.
She claims, a few things still left to do,
I counter, nice to be done enough to enjoy.
She smiles behind glasses with friendly banter.
I return to my book and chilled glass of wine.
And her small beige dog stands still
to pee on a fresh patch of sod.
(c) 2017Iris B. Struller