alone in a silent room
with rain clouds and sands beaches as walls
to shut the outside world
or perhaps to keep the world within.

each wall juts from the ceiling to bare wood floor,
the color of fine molasses,
adjoining its neighboring wall, which is a mirror of itself.
back and forth they reflect each other
with only a canvas or empty frame to separate the two.

a scottish piper dances to his own merry tunings
on a fireplace long devoid of use,
while twin english bulldogs cast a protective stare
over a pipers long dance.

through double glass pane doors a lone stool
eagerly awaits her mornings coffee routine.
sitting beneath the modern curve of an island counter
wondering what new of the latest world debacle.

and as the morning’s light peaks
beneath the dust gray clouds of last night’s storm,
a woman of chocolate curls bounces across an open floor,
as a ballerina would dance upon ice,
clad finely in her spring green.